Recnac Transfaerso (Revised and Salvaged)
by alternativeneem
Summary: (Revised, incomplete edition, salvaged from cyberspace: AU of OOTP) In a rash act of self-sacrifice, Harry saves a dying Muggle by magically transfering his cancer to himself. Now, going through his fifth year with a terrible secret, he begins to realize just what he's given up. Abused!Harry, H/G, R/Hr.
1. Chapter 1: New Friends and Bad News

**Poster's Note:** This is the incomplete revised version of Celebony's classic fanfic from 2003 (ah, the Golden Days of the HP fandom!), an AU version of OOTP by the name of RECNAC TRANSFAERSO. I found it on a site that has since gone defunct, and I've decided to post it here so it's not lost to oblivion. No copyright infringement is intended.

 **Why I (the poster) bothered to save it:** I recently completed my first complete Harry Potter reread in 4-5 years. After I did so I couldn't help thinking that JK Rowling was sheltering the reader from some horrific details of how Harry was treated at the Dursleys. It's not always subtle, either. In Half-Blood Prince, for example: "Harry ran down the stairs two at a time, coming to an abrupt halt several steps from the bottom, as long experience had taught him to remain out of arm's reach of his uncle whenever possible. " In any case, I was looking for a realistic fanfiction depiction of what Harry may have gone through, WITHOUT portraying Harry as a helpless epitome of innocence, and Recnac Transfaerso took the cake. Try the end of Chapter 13 for a particularly harrowing scene.

 **Author's Note (by Celebony):** Some of you may be familiar with the old version of Recnac Transfaerso. Perhaps some of you are even new to it! I wrote the old version a million years ago (maybe more like 6). It was the first thing I ever wrote and while many people have been wonderfully complimentary about the plot, the writing leaves a bit to be desired. A little older and hopefully a little wiser, I'm revising in a fairy-godmother sort of way: cleaning up the actual writing, tightening up some plot lines, making motivations more realistic, and hopefully giving readers a little more bang for their buck. UPDATE: This revision is currently on hold. My attention is being pulled in too many directions right now and I think I need to evaluate whether I should continue.

 **And on to the story:**

It was August 28 and possibly the worst day of Harry's life. He had always been very accepting of unfortunate situations; they seemed to define his life, after all. But this was just unfair. Life could be so cruel sometimes...

Harry knew he was in trouble the moment he arrived at the Dursleys' after the end of fourth year. He had almost forgotten about the Ton-Tongue Toffee incident, but the Dursleys clearly had not. Violence at home was something Harry had always been familiar with, but was never something he couldn't handle. He was no stranger to roughing-ups by Dudley's gang and his aunt leading him around by his hair, even his uncle throwing him around, but there had been only a few incidents in his past that had left him truly frightened.

Now it was different.

Uncle Vernon had started drinking, _really_ drinking. It was after Harry said goodbye to his friends at the platform and was walking to Vernon's car when he first smelled alcohol on his uncle's breath. It was worrying, getting into the car with a drunk driver but he knew if he protested there would be bellowing and in case any of his classmates were around, that certainly wasn't appealing. He had been further shocked that evening to watch Uncle Vernon drinking glass after glass of whisky, getting more belligerent with each one. His aunt frowned at the behavior but seemed to deal with it by deflecting any of Vernon's anger from herself onto Harry.

It was terrifying to watch alcohol transform his already unpleasant uncle into a raging monster with no self-control. The drunker he got, the more he accused Harry of scheming to destroy the family, of wanting to _hurt_ them with his magic. Harry's protests only enraged him further. The first time Vernon dragged him to his small room, Harry had known it would not be pleasant. He had not been prepared for the degree.

The next morning, terrified, covered in bruises and barely able to move his shoulder, he sought out his aunt while Vernon nursed a hangover upstairs. He begged her to reason with her husband, showed her what he had done to him. She accused Harry of bringing it on himself, saying if he wasn't such a horrible, disgusting boy, Vernon would never have turned to drinking in the first place.

He could see it in her eyes: she hated him. To her, he was the reason her family was falling apart.

And that was kind of the truth, wasn't it? Harry knew his family hated him, that they resented having him. He knew it was unfair, that a lot of it was because he was a wizard, but a deeper part of him knew it couldn't just be that. There had to be something else they saw in him and hated; it was something he had suspected since he was small. As he hated his family, he had also always felt a little guilty. Without him, their lives would have been normal like they'd always wanted.

Of course, it wasn't just his family he cursed, was it? Even his friends, the people he loved the most, were affected by him being around. They were put in mortal danger every year just because they were his friends. And there was Cedric, who had had everything going for him...until Harry came into his life.

Now Cedric was dead when it was obvious that, out of the two of them, Harry deserved it far more. It was his fault Voldemort had brought them there. It was his fault Voldemort was back. And if any of his friends got hurt, or more people died, that would be on Harry's head.

Maybe that was why he didn't ask his friends for help. Maybe he was worried they would agree with his aunt that he deserved it. Maybe he thought if he didn't complain about the troubles in his life, his friends would bear with him that much longer, because as much as he knew he should stay away from his friends to keep them safe, he knew with even more conviction that he needed his friends more than anything.

Whatever the reason, he found himself writing nothing but reassurances that his summer was going fine.

As life for Harry gradually declined into a whirlpool depression and fear, a family moved in down the street. One day, Harry looked up from the hedges he was trimming to find the new girl standing there with a smile. Her brown hair curled crazily, she was covered in freckles and couldn't be described as thin. She had probably received taunts about her weight in the past, but only because she was just at the point where she would be sensitive about it rather than because she looked anything remotely like Dudley. Her name was Dakota Stenson, she informed him. She was a year older than him and would be starting at the local private in the fall.

She clearly wanted to talk more, but with an anxious glance to the house, Harry insisted he needed to finish his chores. She looked a bit disappointed at the sudden dismissal and Harry offered an apologetic shrug, but didn't bother with more than that. She would hear the neighborhood rumors soon anyway, and nobody wanted to be friends with the kid who went to a school for the "incurably criminal".

Yet the next few days brought other brief visits by the girl. She seemed to catch on that Harry wasn't supposed to be chatting and was discreet, though her constant questions about why he was always doing chores began to make Harry paranoid. Finally he snapped that doing chores was just what he did, kicking himself later that he didn't come up with something better than that.

The next day Mrs. Stenson came by. She was polite and charming, explaining that Dakota, her daughter, had seen Harry working in the yard. She wondered if he might be willing to do some work for them since they could use help getting settled into their new house. He could even stay for dinner.

The idea of getting rid of Harry for a whole day and making a good impression with the new neighbors appealed to Aunt Petunia, so Harry found himself walking with the lady back to her house, not feeling particularly pleased about being the new neighborhood chore-boy.

But when he got to the house, there was no work to be done. Mrs. Stenson informed him that, from what she saw, he was, "doing far too much work around that house for a growing boy's own good."

Dakota greeted him in a cheerful but nervous manner, holding up a few movies and asking if he'd like to watch one.

At this point Harry was utterly confused, standing in the living room with an armful of gardening tools. He blinked at them in confusion.

"So, I'm not here to do yard work?"

She shifted anxiously. "Umm...no. I thought you might like this better than doing chores all the time. From what I've seen, that's all you do all day. I thought this would be a nice surprise. I don't really know what's up with you and your family, but I told mum we might need a more covert plan to bust you free for a day. But then, I've been told I have an overactive imagination. I won't be offended if you go home."

"Er, haven't you heard what people say about me?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Well, Mrs. Clarkson told us you were a criminal and I thought you were actually exciting, but Mrs...Figg, I think, said she's known you your whole life and that you were nothing but a sweet boy," she said teasingly, though clearly unsure if her teasing was going to be received well.

Harry let out a small laugh of surprise. "Well if you're sure, that would be really great."

"Of course!" she grinned, seeming to be relieved her offer of friendship hadn't been rejected. "Do you like action or comedy?"

That night, Harry had dinner with all three of the Stensons: Dakota and both her parents. It was the first meal in Surrey he had ever enjoyed. They asked him questions with genuine interest, without the suspicion of the rest of his neighbors. They laughed with him and he felt safe for the first time in too long. He was careful to be polite, hoping he might get invited back.

To his utter delight, he was. At first, Mrs. Stenson came over every few days to request Harry's assistance with odd jobs until Harry just started going over every day after his chores for at least an hour. The dinners became a godsend when the Dursleys began drastically restricting his food. The Stensons treated him like part of their family and he was always greeted with smiles and enthusiasm. It was nice to have a few hours a day without being the subject of disdainful looks and vitriolic rants. It was even nice not to have to think about Hogwarts for a little while because that meant he wasn't thinking about Cedric or Voldemort.

His visits to the Stensons and the letters from his friends were the only bright points in a very dark summer.

One day, Harry arrived home to extreme tension. He could hear Uncle Vernon bellowing in the kitchen about having lost a big account, the sound of a bottle clinking with glass confirming what Harry already suspected.

He quietly snuck up to his room, praying this drinking binge would leave his uncle passed out on the couch downstairs. He lay in bed, hardly daring to breathe lest he miss some auditory clue to his uncle's actions.

He caught snatches of Vernon's slurred conversation with his aunt. His clients had turned their nose up at him at lunch for no good reason. Harry was willing to bet it had something to do with his uncle's liberal addition of whisky into his morning coffee.

"It's that boy that's doing this! Him with his ABNORMALITY!"

Harry's heart began to pound. He glanced at the windows, but the newly secured bars kept that from being an escape option.

Heavy footsteps pounded unevenly up the stairs, sometimes stopping while Vernon most likely swayed and tried to catch his balance. Harry shut his eyes. He knew pretending to be asleep was hopeless but didn't know what else to do. He was never able to think clearly when it came to his uncle.

His door slammed open and Harry couldn't help but tense. He yelped as his arm was nearly ripped from its socket as he was torn from bed and slammed into his wall. His eyes went wide with panic as his uncle's fat hand pressed against his throat. He clawed at the hand, but Vernon just pressed harder. Harry's head swam dangerously and his uncle's already slurred words blurred into a slow buzzing.

Suddenly, he was thrown to the floor and was free to gasp in great gulps of air.

"Well, answer me, boy!" Vernon bellowed, stumbling back before finding his footing. Harry didn't know what the question was and even if he had known what to say, wouldn't have been able to get the words out while sucking air past his tender throat into his desperate lungs. His eyes snapped closed as a sharp kick was delivered to his stomach, then his chest. He instinctively curled into the fetal position, which just incited insults about cowardice as Vernon stepped over him and kicked him in the back, laughing as the action made Harry whip back out of his ball with a pained howl.

His vision swam and he tried to crawl away. He didn't get far before kicks were rained upon his torso. He could feel unconsciousness coming on and felt oddly relieved, thankful to finally be drowned in its comforting darkness.

IiIiIiIiI

The next day, Harry ignored the screaming protests of his body as he pushed himself through his chores. He couldn't decide whether to go to the Stensons' house or not after such an awful night. If he went, there was the risk of them discovering his awful secret, but if he didn't show up, they might come over to find out what was wrong. The thought of a confrontation between the Stensons and the Dursleys, especially when Vernon had begun drinking the moment he had gotten home, caused the scale to tip in favor of going. Therefore, after his chores, he pulled on Dudley's old turtleneck to cover up his bruises and walked over.

He told them he couldn't stay long because he had a cold, thus explaining the warm clothes during the summer, but Kota had gotten a new horror movie that she refused to watch alone. At the first scary moment in the film, Kota jumped and grabbed his injured shoulder. Despite his efforts, Harry gasped. He hoped he could cover it up by saying she had scared him, but Kota suspiciously poked his shoulder again and he couldn't help but wince and jerk away.

"What happened to your shoulder?" she asked, forgetting about the movie. Mr. Stenson looked up from the paper he was reading.

"Nothing. I have to go." He stood as quickly as he could, but Kota was faster, not letting her curiosity go unsatisfied.

"Let me take a look, Harry. I'm taking a first aid class in school."

Harry began to protest, but Kota grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked it down off his shoulder, hoping to reveal the affliction to Harry's shoulder, but let go with a gasp when she saw the livid bruises on Harry's neck.

Harry knew he was in trouble. The placing of these bruises couldn't be explained as easily as previous injuries had been, so he decided leaving quickly was the easiest solution. He turned, saying he had to go, but found Mr. Stenson blocking his way, eyebrows furrowed in a puzzled manner.

"Wait a second there, Harry. Let me take a look at that," he said, reaching for Harry's collar again. Harry took a step back, muttering that it was nothing and that he had to go, searching frantically for an escape.

Mr. Stenson repeated Kota's action, but pulled the neck straight down. Harry silently cursed Dudley's huge hand-me-downs as the collar stretched enough to reveal the fresh bruises on his neck. Harry was at a loss for explanation, mumbling that it was nothing while he tried to think of some sensible excuse. What was he supposed to say, though? He fell on a rock...that tried to strangle him?

"Kota, stay here. Harry, come with me." It was the sternest and most serious tone he had ever used in front of Harry. Harry tried once again to insist he had to go, but it came out as a sort of desperate plea that Mr. Stenson seemed deaf to. Mr. Stenson placed his hand on Harry's back and led him into the kitchen. Harry had to clench his jaw to stop himself from crying out in pain.

In the privacy of the kitchen, Mr. Stenson ordered Harry to take off his shirt. Harry's mind raced through all his options, but since all of them required the use of magic in front of Muggles, he reluctantly and slowly pulled his shirt over his head.

There was a moment of silence. When Mr. Stenson finally spoke, his voice was shaking.

"Who the _hell_ did this to you, Harry?"

Harry couldn't look Mr. Stenson in the eye. His mind was in a state of pure panic. What was Uncle Vernon going to do to him now? Was he going to live to see the sun rise the following morning? He wasn't ready to die. He didn't want Uncle Vernon to kill him and have nobody even know until the Stensons called the cops. His friends might not even know until he didn't show up to school and he would never have gotten to say goodbye. He would never have been able to tell them how grateful he was for their friendship, how it had been the first kindness he had ever known.

When Harry didn't answer, Mr. Stenson answered for him.

"It was your uncle, wasn't it?" Mr. Stenson's eyes burned with fury. Harry found it almost comforting in a twisted way. He had seen fury so much this summer but this time he knew it wasn't directed at him. It was a profound relief that his gut seemed to appreciate more than his head.

"It was only this one time," Harry choked out. It had to be obvious he was terrified. He wanted Mr. Stenson to leave it alone. But another part of him wanted desperately for the man to save him. Harry tried to stomp down on that hopeful part. It would never work and he knew it.

"It was _not_ only one time. Look at you. Jesus Christ."

Harry didn't need to look at himself. He knew he had injuries in all stages of healing.

"I get into fights."

"You're staying here tonight," Mr. Stenson said, ignoring Harry's last excuse. "You can stay in the guest bedroom." He stormed from the kitchen.

Harry grabbed his shirt and scrambled to pull it back on while starting after Mr. Stenson. "Wait! Don't talk to them! It really isn't bad and I'm leaving for school in September! Please! You're going to make it worse!"

They were now in the living room and by the look on Mrs. Stenson's face, Kota had told her what she knew. The two of them looked worried and bewildered but Harry didn't care. There was a more pressing matter.

"Kathryn, Harry will be staying the night. Give him some painkillers. I need to have a talk with the Dursleys."

Ignoring Harry's pleas, he marched straight out the door, slamming it behind him.

The half hour while Mr. Stenson was gone was spent seated at the kitchen table with Dakota and her mum. They tried to soothe Harry, but he couldn't stop trembling and he just stared anxiously at the door. When Mr. Stenson returned nursing his fist, he simply stated that he was going to get help the next day and that it was time for bed.

The two adults led the teenagers up the stairs, splitting off when they reached the top with Mrs. Stenson making sure her daughter went to her room, lecturing her about not visiting Harry's room that night. Mr. Stenson guided a still-shaking Harry into the guest room. He carried a bag Harry hadn't noticed before, which he explained held as much of Harry's clothes as he had been able to grab. Harry meant to say thank you but could only manage a feeble nod of the head.

Mr. Stenson sat next to Harry on the bed. "Listen Harry, what the Dursleys did to you is wrong. No one deserves that. _You_ don't deserve that. Everything will turn out all right, okay? Now try to get some sleep. You'll be staying with us for a while."

He gave Harry a comforting smile, but when it wasn't returned he put a hand on Harry's head briefly before leaving the room, shutting the door gently behind him.

Mr. Stenson called Child Protective Services the next day, but as they clarified that there was no immediate danger, the lady informed them in a dull voice that Harry's case would be seen to when they could get to it. Mr. Stenson yelled and asked to speak to superiors, but the cold reality was that Harry was not the only abused child in Surrey and there were kids in more critical situations. It was a triage out there and because of Harry's age and the fact that he was currently out of the questionable home put him low on the list.

It took a long time to get a social worker out to investigate, too long. Harry's bruises had all disappeared except for the faintest sign of them, and when the social worker demanded to see pictures that documented his injuries, they could only stare at her blankly and feel like idiots. The neighbors had nothing but nice things to say about the Dursleys, nothing but nasty things to say about Harry. He was a criminal, a liar, he couldn't be trusted. The Dursleys put on the charm, a drill well-practiced for Vernon's clients. Harry's accusations of alcoholism were put into doubt when the social worker couldn't find a drop of alcohol in the house. There just wasn't enough evidence.

The social worker looked as if she had seen it all before and in the end, Harry wasn't even sure if she believed him anymore. Even if she did, she made it clear that there wasn't anything she could do. It was back to urgent cases with her.

Uncle Vernon soon showed up, demanding Harry come with him. Mr. Stenson held onto Harry's shoulder tightly, Mrs. Stenson cried, Kota swore at Harry's uncle until Harry shot her a desperate look and she shut up. They had no choice. If they refused to let him go home, the Dursleys could call the police and report them for kidnapping.

Backpack slung over his shoulder, he left with his uncle. He knew he couldn't be saved.

Surprisingly, Harry had been able to keep all of this from anyone in the wizarding world, not mentioning his home life at all in his letters aside from a few brief mentions of having new neighbors. Kota had been particularly in awe of Hedwig, whom he told them was trained like a carrier pigeon.

Even though he had to go back to the Dursleys, it wasn't actually as bad. The social worker threatened to visit before the end of the summer and reminders of that fact kept Vernon from really laying into him when drunk. Instead, there was a hole in Harry's wall from a punch his uncle had desperately wanted to lay on his nephew.

Now it was mostly just threats from his uncle about what he was going to do the next time he got his hands on Harry when all this social worker business was done with. Those fantasies seemed to keep Vernon under control and though it was disturbing to see his uncle staring blankly ahead, bottle of whisky in hand, muttering to himself about how he could kill his nephew, the relief that he would live to see Hogwarts again overwhelmed his worry about what dangers the following summer would bring.

On August 28, Harry was finally allowed to see the Stensons again. The Dursleys had some of Uncle Vernon's business clients over to dinner and Harry's record with dinner company apparently wasn't to their liking. Kota was the only one home and was ecstatic to see him, hugging him fiercely and checking for injuries.

They had a peaceful evening. Harry explained how to use Hedwig to send letters back to him and how to stay on the owl's good side. Kota insisted he should come home from his boarding school Christmas. He could stay with them and the Dursleys would never even know. The two were in high spirits when Kota's parents arrived home, but their moods dissolved into concern when they saw the somber looks they were greeted with.

They told Harry and Kota to sit down; there was something very important they needed to discuss. Harry asked if he should leave, but they refused; he should hear this too. They had been seeing doctors for a while now, but wanted to make sure they knew everything for certain before sharing the information. Mr. Stenson had cancer.

Harry couldn't concentrate on what they were saying about how they found out and the chances of fighting it. He knew little about cancer but from what he'd seen on those hospital dramas with Kota, those diagnosed were usually given an amount of time they had left to live. Harry desperately felt the need to ask but held his tongue. It wasn't his place. He wasn't actually part of this family.

Thankfully, Kota hesitantly voiced the question.

"It's just an estimation. Many patients live ten times as long as they first guess without even being cured...but they said I've already had it for a while and well...they estimate about six months," Mr. Stenson said hesitantly, seemingly unsure if he was doing the right thing in revealing this information. Kota let out a sob and Harry looked away. It was so soon. And he was going to be at Hogwarts until at least December

It was probably for the best. The Stensons needed time together as a family and that didn't include him.

His racing mind slammed to a halt. He blinked. He had never heard any wizards talking about cancer. Was there a way to cure it with magic? It was a long shot, too unlikely to even bring up...not that the Stensons even knew about magic, he reminded himself...but maybe. He had to hold on to that hope.

His thoughts were interrupted when a comforting arm hugged his shoulders. He looked up to see Kota crying into her dad's neck. Mrs. Stenson sat next to him on the couch, gently telling him that he had better get home by curfew so the Dursleys didn't get upset. She told him she was sorry to end his summer this way, but that it would all be okay. Harry looked at her in disbelief. He had never heard anything that could be further from okay. But then, maybe Mrs. Stenson had to hold on to something too.

She quietly wished him a good time at school, told him not to worry too much, and that they would love to have him during his Christmas break.

Harry walked back to the Dursleys in a daze, faintly registering that there were no extra cars in the driveway and it was therefore okay to go inside. His mind stayed foggy all the way to his room and he barely noticed Dudley's comment about him looking deranged.

On September 1st, Dakota showed up, offering to drive Harry to the train station. Despite Uncle Vernon's rivalry with the Stensons, the offer was too tempting to deny and soon Harry's trunk was in the boot while Harry sat quietly in the passenger's seat with Hedwig in his lap. Dakota drove in silence for a long time.

"I just can't believe it, Harry." Her voice sounded weary and raspy from crying.

"It just isn't fair," Harry agreed mournfully, stroking Hedwig through her cage.

After that, there didn't seem to be anything left to say for the rest of the trip.

Kota parked and walked Harry to Platform 9, carrying Harry's cage while Harry wheeled his trunk on a trolley. She wanted to see him onto his train but he said he needed a few minutes alone to recoup before getting on. Kota gave Harry a hug, which he returned without embarrassment and whispered in her ear, "I'm going to find a way to fix this."

She laughed and broke the hug, wiping away a tear. "That's what I like about you, Harry: forever thinking you can change the world and that it's up to you to do so. The only thing I want you to do is come home at Christmas, okay?"

He gave a nod of assent and, with a sad smile, she turned and walked off.

Harry looked at the familiar barrier. He reminded himself there was still hope ahead of him. There was still a chance he could fix this.

He took a deep breath before heading toward the barrier. He would not lose one more person in his life if he could stop it.

He would die first.


	2. Chapter 2: Back to the Castle

"Harry!"

Harry had only begun to turn towards the familiar voice when a pair of arms was thrown around his neck and his sight was blocked by a mass of hair more wildly untamed than his own.

"Hey 'Mione," he chuckled fondly as Hermione released her grip. She stepped back and examined him, her lips pursed with worry. He leveled her with a stern look, a wordless warning not to make her usual remarks about how skinny he seemed. He had already explained to her the previous year that it wasn't something he could help and it certainly didn't boost his self-confidence.

"Oh Harry, I'm so sorry I didn't write more this summer! It must have been awful being cooped up with only Ron as a correspondent but I didn't have any access to owls while we were traveling..."

"It's okay," Harry interrupted, glad Ron hadn't been present for that comment. It was a little early for a fight. "I know you would have if you could."

Hermione frowned, plucking up Crookshanks from the crate she had attached to the top of her trunk. The cat looked supremely annoyed as Hermione coddled it, but Harry sensed it was a substitution for Harry-comforting, so he decided not to point out that Crookshanks was trying to wriggle out of Hermione's arms. "I just hate thinking of you there. It just seems so isolating."

Harry shrugged but didn't otherwise comment so Hermione cleared her throat and plastered on a smile.

"Well, I have a surprise that I've been anxious to tell you about. I suppose I should wait for Ron, but I doubt he's even going to care," Hermione huffed.

"If you're excited about it, he'll care," Harry fibbed. It was true that Ron wasn't the most tactful bloke ever to grace the halls of Hogwarts, but then again, Hermione's "surprises" generally weren't very interesting. Her last surprise had been the release of a new edition of _Hogwarts: A History_.

Despite her rather cynical attitude toward him, Hermione gasped in delight when she spotted Ron heading toward them and dropped Crookshanks back into his crate to wave. She greeted the redhead with a hug that struck Harry as much less motherly than the one she'd given him. The embrace she gave Ron was more delicate and it seemed to Harry that they both felt even a little shy about it. Ron's cheeks turned pink as he touched his hand to Hermione's back. Hermione even straightened her skirt unnecessarily afterward, while Ron pulled Harry into a rough, but cheerful hug with the manly pats on the back Ron had incorporated when they were thirteen and the twins told Ron he hugged like a girl.

Hermione allowed the greeting but quickly dragged them off to the train, chattering on the entire time, not even pausing as Harry and Ron helped lift her trunk up the steps.

"How many sugar quills did she have this morning?" Ron muttered to Harry. Hermione peered into compartments while keeping up a constant narration of her family's stop in Edinburgh, explaining in detail about how the Great Plague had once ravaged the city. Ron rolled his eyes and Harry chuckled in camaraderie as they wheeled their trunks down the narrow aisle.

It was good to be back.

When the three finally found an empty compartment and settled down, Hermione pulled out a badge from her pocket and held it up in dramatic presentation.

"Here's the surprise! I've been made a prefect! Can you believe it?" she squealed with joy.

"Hermione, I would've died of shock if you _hadn't_ been made a prefect," Ron dismissed.

Hermione shot Harry an exasperated " _I told you so_ " look. Harry shrugged helplessly.

"You want a real surprise?" Ron took out an identical badge and held it out in his palm. Hermione's eyebrows shot up. But instead of looking smug, as Harry would have guessed, Ron peered at the badge as if it might attack him. "Fred and George have been teasing me ever since I've got it, calling me Percy Jr. Why would Dumbledore do this to me?"

Harry and Hermione sniggered but Ron just huffed and folded his arms over his chest.

"Really, Ron, this is fantastic. With a bit more dedication to the rules, you'll make a great prefect," she encouraged. "It will be nice to have a friend there. We can quiz each other on regulations!"

Ron shot Harry a blatantly horrified look that didn't seem to faze Hermione much.

Harry cleared his throat and looked to Hermione. "No offense, but if we have to spend the year studying rules, I think I'm turning mine back in." Harry pulled out the matching badge and held it out with a shrug. He had been utterly shocked when he had found it in his Hogwarts letter. He did spend half of every school year breaking every rule he could find, after all. Snape was going to pitch a fit.

It seemed Ron shared his thoughts.

"Well it's understandable with Hermione, but I think with you and I, they're trying that ' _give them responsibility and they'll rise to the occasion_ ' method. Mum tried that with Fred and George once. That poor cat..."

"So Harry, tell us more about your summer. I wasn't able to ask you much about it," Hermione asked with interest. Harry knew it was just a friendly question, but he still felt his stomach clench nonetheless as unwelcome images of his raging, drunken uncle filled his head.

"Oh, er, it was fine," he muttered fingering his badge. "Better than usual, for staying in Little Winging."

"Yeah, who was that girl you mentioned in your letters? Dakota? You fancy her?" Ron demanded. It seemed that he was torn between excitement at Harry having a love life and suspicion of this object of affection being someone Ron didn't know.

"Dakota? No, definitely just a friend," Harry said with the utmost sincerity. It just wasn't like that with them. "Her family's a good lot. Not gossipy like the others 'round the neighborhood. They let me watch the telly at their house. Not much to tell, really."

"You're going to run off with the Muggles and forget all about us, aren't you?" Ron pouted exaggeratedly.

"That's the plan," Harry replied. Hermione laughed and shoved him. "So, you were talking about Scotland. Where else did you go, 'Mione?"

With that change of subject, Harry's summer was forgotten, and the rest of the train ride was quite relaxing.

-

Harry groaned when the train arrived and he caught a glimpse of the weather outside. The rain pounded against the window and the wind howled so loudly they had to raise their voices to complain about it. Ron peered out and sniggered as a group of first years were blown to the side screaming. Hermione smacked his arm and reminded him he was a prefect now. They pulled their hoods up and braced themselves as they joined the crowd reluctantly leaving the train. Hermione yelped as the wind made her trip on the step down, but Ron caught her around the waist and pulled her to safety just in time. The two exchanged a quick, shy glance before Harry called that he was making a run for the carriages with or without them.

They therefore joined the mad dash of screaming and laughing students, puddles sloshing into their shoes. Ron grabbed Hermione's hand to pull her along faster as she used her other hand to keep her hood secured over her head. By the time Harry, Ron and Hermione scrambled into a carriage, they looked like they had swam through the Great Lake to get there. Hermione started to pull the carriage door shut, stubbornly fighting the wind for it, but stopped when she heard a desperate cry.

"Hermione, wait! Please!"

Neville raced up and tried to stop at their carriage, but skidded on a puddle and slid right past, yelping as he fell into a large, muddy puddle.

"Come on, Neville!" Hermione encouraged, the rain pouring through the open door while they waited for their friend. Neville scrambled to his feet, blushing, and pushed against the wind towards them. Ron and Harry each grabbed an arm and helped pull Neville into the carriage, as Hermione used all of her strength to wrestle the door closed behind him.

They all sat on the benches, breathing heavily in relief.

"Thanks guys," Neville said, wringing out his robes. "I didn't know if I'd be able to get a carriage, or even get _to_ a carriage in this weather."

Hermione rolled her eyes the boys' groans about their damp state and with a flick of her wand, they were all dry.

"Scotland weather is bollocks," Ron grumbled.

"Yeah, too bad it can't be like the tropics of England," Harry sympathized with a smirk. Ron shot him a rather rude hand gesture.

"I'm just glad to be here. Gram almost didn't let me come," Neville voiced.

Harry stared at him in surprise. "What? Why wouldn't she want you to come to school?"

"Well, she was scared about You-Know-Who being back. She says if Dumbledore says he's back, he's back, no matter what anyone else thinks," Neville explained.

"But Hogwarts is one of the safest places in the world!" Hermione protested.

"Well it's supposed to be, but lots of people aren't so sure anymore. With the Chamber of Secrets incident second year and with what happened last year..." Neville said, cautiously eyeing Harry at that last part. "But I convinced her to let me come. I told her that Dumbledore's prepared now and if You-Know-Who's back then I'd rather be where Dumbledore is. I'm not sure it's _really_ the safest place to be, but I didn't want to get behind or spend a year with my gram."

Harry was stunned. He could understand Neville's grandmother being worried, especially with what had happened to Neville's parents, but he couldn't believe she'd consider pulling him out of school. From the gaping expression on her face, Hermione seemed to be as horrified as he, but it was probably more the mere idea of missing school. Ron, however, looked less than surprised.

"Neville's grandmother isn't the only one," he hesitantly began to explain. "Some people seem to think that Hogwarts might be a target. There are some key people everyone knows You Know Who's after at Hogwarts." He slipped a glance at Harry. "Other people think Dumbledore's wrong and crazy and don't want their kids in a school run by him. Mom never considered pulling us out, she has too much faith in Dumbledore for that, but a lot of her friends were considering it. Some are even trying to kick Dumbledore out of his position as headmaster, but that's not going to happen. I think most people figure crazy or not, he's the most powerful wizard ever and who better to protect their kids, you know?"

Harry couldn't help but feel a little guilty about this whole thing. Not only did he play a role in bringing Voldemort back to power, but he was also putting Hogwarts at risk just by being there.

He pushed the thought away. It was either Hogwarts or the Dursleys, and he would rather battle Voldemort a hundred times than go back to the Dursleys year round.

Finally, they reached Hogwarts. They all braced themselves as Hermione turned the handle. The wind ripped the door open, nearly taking it off its hinges. They jumped out of the carriage one-by-one, Ron and Harry quickly pulling Neville back to his feet after he slipped on another puddle. The four pushed their way against the wind toward the castle. As they moved forward, a small second year skidded backward toward them, carried by the wind, and would have kept going had Harry not responded to his pleas for help and grabbed him. He held onto Harry's arm for the rest of the way, making Harry's trip doubly difficult.

It was a great relief when they made it through the huge entrance doors and into the castle. It was as if someone had turned off a giant fan and every step Harry took seemed easier than it had ever been before. The small boy that had used Harry as a guide thanked him, a little embarrassed, especially upon realizing whose arm he had latched onto, and hurried away to catch up with a group of his friends.

Harry was going to cast his own drying spell, but sensed Hermione wanted to be the one to come to their rescue so he waited his turn for her to cast it over his clothes. Hermione smiled as they thanked her and the group made their way into the Great Hall.

Apparently, Ron was right about Neville's grandmother not being the only one with her views. There was a significant absence of students even after everybody had made their way out of the storm. All of the fifth-year Gryffindors had come, thankfully, but it seemed like there might have been a few missing from the other years. Ginny sadly revealed that one of her friend's parents had apparently decided to keep her home. They had debated it for a while, up until the last second, but her absence told Ginny that they hadn't listened to Mrs. Weasley's arguments.

The Hufflepuffs, with whom Cedric's death had hit closest to home, were missing the most out of the houses and those present frowned mournfully at all the free space at their table. The Slytherins, on the other hand, didn't seem to be missing anyone at all. Ron voiced his opinion that most of their parents were Death Eaters and they would therefore be safe from Voldemort in an attack, or at least be informed when and if they needed to leave.

The mood definitely wasn't the excited giddiness that usually filled the hall at the beginning of the term.

Dumbledore rose to make his speech and the Hall quieted.

"Another year of learning has begun. I am sorry to say the weather was not very hospitable in its welcoming, but you have a line of professors excited to have you for another year," he said with a smile. Most students glanced to Snape at that; the man glowered at his plate and fondled his knife, possibly visualizing a vivisection one of his more detested students. Dumbledore continued, seemingly oblivious. "As many of you have noticed, there is a substantial number of students absent tonight. I hope you all will respect the decisions of their families. I will not lie to you; the wizarding has rough times ahead of it. Whether Hogwarts itself will be affected or not is unknown, but it is without a doubt that each of your lives will be touched by it; many already have. I assure you that this school is a safe place with a staff that would die defending its students."

An elbow jabbed into Harry's side and Ron whispered, "Reckon he forgot Snape works here?"

Harry snorted. "It probably would be less inspiring to say ' _your professors would die for you, except for Snape. He'll use you as a human shield if you scored less than an Outstanding on your Potions O.W.L._ '"

Hermione cleared her throat and glared at the boys in warning to shut up and listen.

"As I looked out from my office window, watching you all make your way to the castle, do you know what I saw?"

"Uh, some students that could use a bit of bloody help?" Ron hissed indignantly. He jerked and glared at Hermione, who it seemed had kicked him under the table.

"I saw courage. Most of you didn't think twice about facing the storm outside or getting into the boats to cross the lake, and those who had their doubts at first overcame them."

Many students glanced at Malfoy, who had made a great scene refusing to get out of the carriage until someone brought him an umbrella or got the carriage closer to the door, but eventually gave in when no one seemed to pay attention to his demands.

"I saw determination. You faced your challenge, never giving up. Most importantly, I saw you provide each other with aid. Working together and helping those who are in need is what gets people through times of great difficulty. No kind gesture goes un-rewarded, though it may not seem so at times."

Harry blinked as Dumbledore glanced to him with a meaningful look. Harry wondered if he was referring to the Wormtail incident.

"I assure you all that despite our smaller number this year, it will be a year to remember."

"Oh good, he probably got another homicidal maniac as a defense professor," Ron whispered, shooting a triumphant glance at Hermione that probably meant his legs had been moved out of harm's way just in time. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"On a lighter note, I am happy to announce that our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is not all that new, but has returned at the request of myself, many parents, staff, and students. Though he was not able to make it to our welcoming feast, he will be ready for your first day of school. It is with great pleasure I announce the return of Remus Lupin to our staff and hope you will all welcome him back with open arms."

Harry looked to his friends, mouth hanging slightly agape in his surprise. Hermione let out a small scream of delight, which was not out of place among the cheers and excited chatter of the hall.

"I wonder why Snuffles didn't mention it in his letters," Harry said as he clapped.

"They probably wanted to keep it a surprise!" Hermione laughed clapping and smiling.

"Hey, look at the Slytherins," Ron sniggered. His voice turned sing-song. "So happy." Harry looked over to see them speaking angrily amongst themselves, Malfoy sneering hatefully. Harry rolled his eyes at the display.

After the cheering died down, and the sorting was over, the feast began. Harry ate as much as he could, but neither he nor Ron could fit much in their stomachs after an impromptu challenge on the train to see who could eat the most chocolate frogs. When they ran out of those, they had turned to Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans for a rematch. Ron had won when Harry had to stop or risk losing his far too colorful meal. Even though it felt good to have a full stomach for the first time in a while, the combination of the sweets was enough to make anyone loose their appetite.

The announcement of Professor Lupin's return, along with the sorting and the wonderful feast, brought the customary element of cheer back to the Great Hall.

Harry was home.


	3. Chapter 3: Decisions

The first few weeks back at school felt strange to Harry. On the one hand, being back at Hogwarts was like returning home. Everything was familiar. Hermione and Ron were still in the early stages of their bickering, where each would cast him exasperated looks behind the other's back. He sniggered with his dormmates as they invented wild predictions for Divination. He rolled his eyes at Hermione's lectures on time management, though he secretly felt comforted by the subtle mothering. Even the threat of the O.W.L.s on the horizon only created a stronger bond with his peers, one that could only be created by shared complaining. Hogwarts was where he truly belonged, more than he ever had in Surrey despite the best efforts of the Stensons.

And yet, he also felt more isolated than he ever had in his life. When he passed by the Hufflepuff table and found them laughing and gossiping, he wondered if he was the only one who remembered that their brightest star had been heartlessly murdered only months before. He still had nightmares about it almost every night and yet the horror had lost its grasp on the other students. Hermione commented on it positively, glad that the Hufflepuffs were moving on, but Harry found it chilling. If any other student was to be lost to Voldemort, it would most likely be him. To look around at his smiling, joking housemates and realize that things would go on the same if he were gone...it was startling. At least Cedric had family to mourn his memory, but Harry only had the Dursleys.

Though he tried to forget the disturbing turn his home life had taken, it kept creeping up. The truth about Privet Drive had always been a topic handled delicately, but he felt it was turning into a dirty secret he had to guard more than ever before. What he had let his uncle do to him...people wouldn't understand. They need him to explain why he hadn't defended himself and he didn't have an answer. He didn't know why hehe felt paralyzed with fear at home when he had handled everything the wizarding world had thrown at him. They would think he wouldn't be able to do his job and fight against Voldemort, but that wasn't true! He didn't want to explain that Voldemort was the bad guy of an epic story and that Harry had to be the hero of the tale. People were counting on him to play that role and so he would do his best to save them all.

Vernon, however, was the monster of his nightmares. There, Harry had never been anything but a scared child alone in the dark waiting for a claw to reach out from under his bed.

And then there was the Stensons, another family he had to save. He didn't know how, but when he made that promise to Kota, he had thrust himself into his Boy Who Lived role and he couldn't take that back. It was up to him to fix things now.

In an attempt to make things feel a bit more normal, he asked Hermione for her help in research. Hermione was sympathetic but unhopeful, explaining that the magic coursing through wizards helped protect them against many Muggle illnesses and that medical research was dedicated almost exclusively to wizarding sicknesses and cures for nasty spells. Yet, when Harry determinedly took the library head-on to search for an answer, she sat across from him, pulled a book off his stack and began skimming.

After a few weeks at it, Hermione began focusing on her own studies and Harry began to lose hope. Hermione had been absolutely right: wizarding medicine was negligent in the field of Muggle infirmities, so much that they weren't even caught up with Muggle medicine in some areas. Harry was extremely disappointed and was angry that with all the wonders magic offered, wizards didn't even know how to vaccinate for the chicken pox.

Hermione latched onto Harry's indignation about the medical field in an annoying way, suddenly sure Harry was destined to be a healer.

"You could push for research into these fields, Harry!" she gushed excitedly, pushing career pamphlets at him. "You could make change! It's something the wizarding world could use! There are so many wizards now with Muggle family who are probably just as frustrated with you at the limitations of magical medicine just because no one's looked into it. We have three more years here, including this one, so what we should do is make a plan. You can start your research now and start picking specific projects by the end of the year..."

"Hermione, I'm really not in the mood," Harry groaned. "And I don't need more than one pamphlet on healing."

"Well, just in case you lose it," Hermione protested.

"I'm not going to lose it."

"I just want you to think about your future! You need to start thinking about it now," she pressed, looking from him to Ron. "We should all have an idea in mind and dedicate a few hours a week to studying it so we can make a difference in whatever area we choose!"

Ron looked a bit nauseous at that. "Don't drag me into this! And you can't have Harry either. Who am I going to hang around with if you both are always in the _library_?" He said library with just a hint of a shudder.

Hermione huffed. "You should really think about your future too, Ron. You could stand to be passionate about something, you know. And even if _you're_ not, you shouldn't keep Harry from helping his field."

"Healing's not my field," Harry reminded her.

Hermione ignored him. "Well if you don't want to prepare for your _life_ you could at least study for your O.W.L.s."

"Sorry. I'm allergic to libraries," Ron shrugged, just to push Hermione's buttons. "Just found out this summer."

Harry snorted and Hermione tried to glare but couldn't help but cracking a smile herself.

"It's true. It's a serious condition," Ron continued.

"Well, then maybe _you_ should become a healer, Ron," Hermione teased. "That way you can figure out a cure."

Ron scrunched up his nose in distaste.

"I think it's a handicap he's come to accept," Harry joked in mock-pity. "I tried to drag him to Madam Pomfrey but he just refuses the help."

"I think it's work you're allergic to," Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Nah, it's the boredom," Ron replied. He shook his head in a martyred way. "It's a hard, hard struggle."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed as Hermione and Ron kept teasing each other. Maybe all this time he had been looking in the wrong place. It was a long shot still, but really, if he needed something to do with medicine, maybe he should have started with the infirmary. It was possible Madam Pomfrey had heard of something during her schooling.

It was worth a shot.

-

Harry poked his head into the infirmary to find an empty room. He wandered in and looked around awkwardly, not wanting to just call out for the nurse when she might be in the middle of something important.

Thankfully he didn't have to go looking for her. She hurried into the room shaking her head. "Mr. Potter, do you go _looking_ for trouble? I have never had a student spend so much time in my care!"

Harry blushed. "Er, sorry."

"You must learn how to take care of yourself, young man," she scolded, grabbing his chin and looking critically at his face.

"Actually, I'm not here 'cause I'm hurt or sick," Harry interjected, pulling away from her grasp. "I was just wondering if you could answer a medical question I have...for Muggle Studies." He invented the class assignment on a whim, just wanting a candid answer free from sugar coating.

"Hm." She seemed skeptical, as if Harry couldn't actually have stayed uninjured for this long. With a raised eyebrow, she abruptly left his side, bustling around the infirmary. "Fine, fine. Ask away."

"I've been trying to find information on cancer but the library doesn't seem to have anything."

Madam Pomfrey nodded impatiently. "Yes, I've heard of it. Muggle terminal illness, yes?"

"Yeah!" Harry said, stepping toward her in excitement. "Do you know if there's any sort of magical cure or treatment?"

"Magical cures for Muggle afflictions...it's a fascinating field. Superb choice of subject for your class," she enthused. Her mouth quirked thoughtfully as she looked through her potions, shaking bottles to see how full they were. "There's a fascinating story behind cancer in particular. There was a wizard a very long time ago who invented a spell to save his Muggle lover. I believe it was used only twice before the few who knew of the spell decided to hide it from the public. After a while, it was widely forgotten."

Harry sat down on the edge of one of the beds, facing the medi-witch. "But why would they hide a spell that did something so good?"

"Ah, well, it was dark magic," she revealed.

"How is that dark?" Harry asked incredulously.

She eyed him in surprise before comprehension crossed her face. "I forget they don't cover magic theory until your seventh year. How ridiculous. It should be the first thing you learn." She clucked her tongue disapprovingly, but explained. "Light magic is generally accepted as spells that don't have inherent negative consequences. They may have only positive effects, like cheering charms, or may be neutral, like the Lumos charm. Many spells fall in a middle area, which most label gray, though you rarely hear it called so. These have questionable effects. The petrifying curse, for instance, could be used maliciously or defensively. It's negative, but causes no real harm." She took a breath and continued. "Dark magic _will_ cause pain. It's built in. It's most obvious in curses whose purpose is harmful, such as the Unforgivables. But, a form you will learn of later is characterized by peripheral harm."

"Peripheral harm?" Harry echoed hesitantly.

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Mm, yes. In the case of the cancer-curing curse, it doesn't destroy the illness. It transfers it from one body to another. The wizard to invent the spell did it out of extreme love. He transferred it to himself, giving his life for the one he loved. Peripheral harm to the caster. The second person to cast it transferred the cancer to another, an innocent servant. Peripheral harm to a third party. It was murder. The cancer must be transferred to someone, making it inherently dark."

"Did they transfer it back?" Harry asked, sick at the thought of illness being used as a weapon like that. "From the servant?"

"No." She squinted as she seemed to search her memories for the details. "It can only be transferred once and there's no cure from there.

"And they don't worry about it being used as a weapon anymore?"

"Like many of these ritualistic spells, it's so archaic not many know about it now," she assured him. "Even if they are found, complex dark magic often can go terribly wrong if done even slightly incorrectly. If you say Lumos wrong, nothing happens. If you stutter during a complicated dark incantation, you may curse yourself or the person you're trying to help. There have been instances where a wrong pronunciation instantly killed everyone in the room. It is therefore often hard to find information on such spells and those who find them would be foolish to attempt them. Of course, with desperation, many wise men turn to fools."

Harry looked down in disappointment. "And that's the only way?"

Madam Pomfrey looked up, surprised at his tone. "Yes. Does that disprove a theory you had?"

Harry shook his head and forced himself to sit up straight. "So the wizards couldn't fight it any better than the Muggles? Doesn't their magic help at all?"

"No. Magic can't do everything. Though an interesting point to put in your paper is the effects the cancer had on the magic of those who had it forced into their bodies. In both cases, their magic went wild. It seems that with the uncontrolled cell growth and rapid spreading of the disease, their magic actually also grew uncontrollably and spread in ways no one's ever seen." Madam Pomfrey sat down on the bed facing him, excited to talk about the fascinating case study. "It seems the magic even spread into their brains and affected their cognitive abilities. The man who invented the spell had struggled for years to design it while his lover battled the illness, but in the last year of his life, he invented dozens of new spells and potions, the amount of which no one has yet to reproduce in their lifetime. The servant taught herself to read and researched ways to cure herself; though she failed, her notes are still used today in the best medical research institutions. It's intriguing but of course no one's willing to die for the extra power and intellect."

Harry listened intently. He would almost expect Voldemort to be enticed by such an offer of power, but of course it also represented the Dark Lord's greatest fear: a premature and certain death.

"I have an old text from my medical studies that details the cases and the theory behind the spell, as well as the work of the inventor after the illness took hold. Would you like to borrow it for your assignment?"

Harry nodded more out of surprise than anything. He didn't know what he would do with information about the spell, but more information couldn't hurt.

Madam Pomfrey shuffled into her office and emerged with a large, leather-bound tome. "Well, this should certainly help with your report."

Harry accepted the book gingerly. "I'll take good care of it," he promised.

She nodded and returned to her chores. "You stay out of trouble, you hear? I don't want to see you back here for anything other than returning that book."

"I'll try," he vowed.

-

Harry sat on his bed, chewing his thumbnail, the book in his lap. His roommates were snoring in their beds while a Lumos spell kept his bed lit behind his curtains.

The spell was in the book.

It was written out, step by step. He wasn't sure if Madam Pomfrey even remembered that when she gave it to him, or if she was just so sure no one would ever use it that she felt safe passing it on.

It was the most complicated piece of magic he'd ever seen. It required not only an incantation full of words he could barely wrap his mouth around, but also a potion that looked just as difficult to make as Polyjuice. He found it ironic that elsewhere in the book there was a curse to make similar illnesses dramatically worse to kill within minutes that was infinitely easier than this one; it was just two words! "Recnac Sunimun" instead of "Ah-nack-a-reen-in-ah dem-ee-en...dem-i-ahn?" or however you said it: gibberish that went on for two lines.

To make it more intimidating, the spell had apparently been attempted a third time, but the caster had mispronounced a word and his tongue had burst into flames, leaving him speechless for the rest of his life. The person he had been casting on had died instantly.

What had made him discount the possibility at the beginning was his role as the Boy Who Lived. He had a job to do and he couldn't defeat Voldemort if he was dead.

Yet he had started thinking...what did the spell promise but power? If he was fated to defeat a wizard infinitely stronger and more prepared than he, how else to do it but to have a secret power of his own to fight back with?

But he would die.

He knew everyone was counting on him to do something, but...well, he hadn't even had his first kiss. He hadn't had a girlfriend or gotten drunk or figured out what he wanted to do for a job. He barely knew who he was! All he knew was that he didn't feel like the hero everyone needed him to be.

If he did this, he would be giving up the sliver of hope that he might survive Voldemort's battle for power.

But if he didn't, how many others might die?

His breath caught as the memory of Cedric's death played vividly in his head. He shut his eyes hard to ward off the images.

Hedwig hopped off his headboard, onto his head and then to his shoulder. She seemed to sense that Harry was under stress and picked at his hair like she picked at her own plumage to remove dead feathers. It was an oddly motherly gesture, but he supposed it made sense. She had witnessed everything Vernon had done to him during the summer. When he had cried in his room after particularly harsh beatings, lying silently and letting his tears soak his pillow as he stared at the dark window, Hedwig had hooted softly and nuzzled his cheek, carefully stepping to avoid any of his fresh injuries. She was the only one who knew how much he trembled when his uncle knocked him to the floor and towered over him or how he couldn't help but tear up when his uncle slapped him over and over demanding Harry explain why was such a waste of space. She refused to sleep in the owlery since they got back to Hogwarts, instead choosing to stay close.

Earlier, she had delivered a letter from Kota where she confided to him her fears about her father's death. Her father was the breadwinner of the family and she didn't know what they would do for money. She had always been her daddy's little girl and didn't know how she would manage without him. She couldn't understand why this was happening to them.

It was horrible to read because he _knew_ how it felt to have no parents; he couldn't imagine how painful it would have been to actually know his parents before they were snatched away.

-

That night, he dreamt that he was in a locked, safe room and that Kota, Hermione, Ron, Ginny and others he loved were banging on door, begging to be let in. But he knew that if he opened the door, he'd get sucked outside and didn't want to go, so he hid in the corner and clutched the key. There was a great explosion outside and his friends stopped begging for his help. He knew they were dead.

Then the safe room was his cupboard and all his friends, now dead, were on the other side, whispering through the grate that he was a coward, that a real friend would have died rather than betray them.

He was then in the graveyard, watching Cedric die, but the grave he was tied to was Mr. Stenson's and all around, in a great circle were the graves of those who died because of him. They began to swirl and he begged them to stop but they kept going faster and faster until suddenly a bony hand broke out of the grave below him, grabbed his ankle and dragged him screaming down to where he belonged.

He woke with a startled yelp, breathing heavily.

He put his head into his shaking hands. It should have been him, not Cedric. Voldemort had meant to kill _him_. He couldn't understand why he been allowed to survive instead of Cedric, or why he had lived when his parents had died. Any of those who died for him would have dealt with the Voldemort issue so much better than he. They would _know_ what to do while he'd just slid by on luck. They gave him the title "Boy Who Lived" because he _shouldn't_ have lived, and they thought there was a reason he did. But everyone looked at him and couldn't see what the reason was and he had no answers for them.

And yet, this was an answer, wasn't it? Maybe this was how he was supposed to balance it all out. Maybe others had died for him so he could die for others...wasn't that what everything pointed to? He could save Mr. Stenson and save everyone else. If he didn't, that would just mock his parent's sacrifices and Cedric's unfair death. He really _would_ be a waste of space.

He was suddenly sure this was what he was meant to do. It was _why_ he'd been robbed of a family. As he'd seen with Cedric's death, family was the only one really affected by someone's death; he didn't have family so his death wouldn't really _hurt_ anyone. He looked at Kota with her father's illness or with the Diggorys and the loss of their son; he didn't have that.

Who would his death really affect? The Dursleys were looking forward to it; the public didn't care as long as he brought Voldemort down with him. Hermione and Ron might be upset for awhile but they'd get over it. Lately, they'd seemed much closer to each other than they did to him. They didn't know the _real_ him, the shameful side that Hedwig had witnessed. He never wanted them to find out or see whatever it was the Dursleys saw in him that sickened them so much. Maybe the way to do that was to go out as a hero. Wasn't that what most people wanted in life anyway?

And it might be nice if the Stensons found out what he'd done for them. Maybe they'd be so thankful they'd treat him like a real family member and though he'd be sick, Mrs. Stenson would bring him soup and Kota would tell him stories and Mr. Stenson would say how proud he was. Or if not the Stensons, then maybe Sirius! He hadn't heard from his godfather in so long. It was obvious the man didn't care much about his godson yet. But if Harry made this sacrifice, maybe Sirius would realize how much like his parents he could be and he'd finally let Harry live with him. They would stay up late together watching movies and Sirius would curse the Durlseys. Harry would tell him not to bother with them, but Sirius would tell him every night that Harry's relatives were wrong, that Harry was so much more than they ever knew.

And that settled it. He wanted to earn a family. Before Hogwarts, he had been nothing, and then they told him he was a hero.

It was time to make them proud.


	4. Chapter 4: Jumping Obstacles

Author's Note: A quick word on the grading system. I am aware that O.W.L. grades go from Outstanding-Troll. However, as this grading system was only introduced as of book five, I don't believe all assignments in Hogwarts are graded using this system or Harry wouldn't have needed it explained to him five years in. I believe they use the O-T grading system on the O.W.L.s, N.E.W.T.s and all assignments specifically practicing for those exams (like in an AP class: you get regular assignments graded A-F, then practice AP exam assignments graded on that scale). Also, I wrote this fic before OotP was out and that system was introduced, but I feel no need to change the A-F grading system I used then.

-

The next few days reminded Harry of second year, when he and his friends had secretly prepared the Polyjuice potion. Only this time, he was in it alone. He had to find all the ingredients for the potion himself. He snuck out to Hogsmeade through one of the castle's secret passages and was able to get most of what he needed. The rest would have to come from Professor Snape's stores.

Inventing an excuse to get away, Harry slipped on his Invisibility cloak and made his way down to the dungeons. He had tried this a few nights already, failed attempts, obviously. Snape kept his office locked and Harry didn't even want to try guessing the password, suspecting that a wrong guess might leave him with his head on backwards or sneezing acid. All he could do was wait for Professor Snape to visit his office and see how he got in. He just hoped it wasn't something high-tech like a retina scan, or he might have to figure out something else.

Harry looked down at the Maurader's map once he reached the right hallway and was relieved to find he had finally timed it right. The dot labeled Severus Snape was traveling right toward him.

Harry flattened himself against the wall just in time for Snape to breeze past. Tiptoeing, Harry followed closely behind, making sure not to give Snape even the tiniest hint that he was being followed. He didn't want to face Snape's wrath alone down here and it certainly wouldn't help his efforts.

At the office door, Snape scanned the hall in, admittedly justified, paranoia before muttering several different passwords to drop the wards. Harry's eyes widened in alarm, not having even heard half of them, but luck was with him. When Snape wandered in, he left the heavy door to shut on its own and Harry was able to slip in so narrowly he felt a little impressed with himself. Kota would applaud that it was very Indiana Jones-esque.

Snape sat at his desk and hunched over a stack of papers, studying each before marking them with angry red ink. Harry winced, recognizing it as their previous night's homework.

Grateful for his own foresight in leaving his shoes behind, Harry could move nearly silently in his socks to the shelves of rare potion's ingredients. When he found each bottle he needed, he checked to make sure Snape was still staring at the papers, muttering about imbecilic students, and slipped it under his cloak. He poured some into the empty vials he had brought in his bag, just in case, before replacing them gently. He hoped this would make it less obvious anything was missing. He stuffed his scarf in between the vials to keep them from clinking together.

When he was done, he was pleased at how smoothly it had gone. All his years of sneaking around had taught him something after all!

Unfortunately, he was also stuck in the room since invisibly opening the door would let Snape know _exactly_ what was going on and who was responsible. So Harry slowly padded over to the desk to see what kind of grades his classmates were getting...not that it was a great mystery.

Harry peeked at the grade-book and rolled his eyes at the C's, D's, and F's next to the names of the Gryffindors. Snape came to Hermione's paper, read it with a scowl, and then drew a big red C- on the top with the comment, " _Too wordy_." Harry clenched his jaw. Hermione had worked really hard on that paper, especially since her last feedback had been, " _Too brief_."

His own assignment was next in the stack. Snape barely glanced at it before writing a fat F on the top. Harry was unsurprised and used his invisible state to flip off his professor. Though the man couldn't see it, it still felt pretty good.

"Bloody Potter," Snape muttered as he recorded the grade in his ledger, causing Harry to smirk a bit proudly.

Harry amused himself by making immature faces at Snape while he finished grading papers, but became intrigued when Snape drew up his lesson plans for the next class. Harry smiled triumphantly as Snape scribbled down the subject of the next pop quiz. Snape's pop quizzes were notoriously random, on subjects he'd mentioned briefly months before, or not at all. Harry always flunked them, along with most the other Gryffindors. The Slytherins never seemed to be taken by surprise...typical. This time, they'd all have a head start.

Harry was more than ready to leave by the time Snape called it a night. Snape pulled the door closed this time, but it was heavy enough that it went slow and Harry was able to duck under Snape's arm and slip away, back up to the Gryffindor Tower.

The potion didn't take much time to make, so he'd make it at the Stensons where he'd arouse less suspicion. Being that the spell required the Muggle's active participation, he would have to tell the Stensons everything. That certainly added a complication. He wasn't sure how to break it to Muggles that he was a wizard. They weren't as young or desperate as he had been when Hagrid had told him, and though it was a great day, Hagrid hadn't exactly eased him into the knowledge. And then there was the Statute of Secrecy to keep Muggles from knowing about another world.

He'd have to talk to Dumbledore. He _did_ live part time at their house and they were almost like family. True, they weren't related to him, but there had to be a loophole in the law. He'd just have to be careful not to hint at an urgent reason, such as an ancient spell.

He idly wondered what Dumbledore would say about the Recnac spell. Harry wasn't sure he wanted to know. It was one thing to do it himself; it was another to have Dumbledore approve of him killing himself for the greater good.

And if Dumbledore tried to talk him out of it, Harry wasn't sure he'd be brave enough to argue. He still didn't really want to take the potion, but there was no use letting his thoughts wander down that road.

He was doing the right thing.

-

The next morning at breakfast, Ron and Hermione couldn't help but note that their best friend seemed off. As Harry lifted his fork to his mouth, only to stop and put it down again, Hermione shot Ron another worried look. They had noticed something strange going on with Harry that morning when he had put an empty fork into his mouth and hadn't even notice.

"Er, Harry?" Hermione prompted uncertainly.

There was no response and Harry's eyes remained unfocused.

"Harry?" she tried again, but he continued to seemingly stare through the table and be deaf to all around him.

"Harry!" Ron leaned over the table abruptly and snapped his fingers in front of his friend's face.

Harry jumped and looked up, a little stunned. At their expectant looks, his expression melted into an embarrassed smile.

"Sorry. Did you want something?"

"Yeah! We wanted to know what's bothering you so much that you're pouring your pumpkin juice on your waffles," Ron said, pointing to the sopping mess on Harry's plate. "You looking for the syrup maybe?"

"Did you know Professor Flitwick has a son?" Harry asked, hoping they wouldn't realize he was changing the subject.

"What? No way!" Ron exclaimed.

Hermione smacked the redhead's arm lightly. "Oh really, Ron, he's just trying to change the subject on us."

"I just have to ask Dumbledore something is all," Harry replied vaguely.

"Harry, quit being vague," Hermione scolded. "We know something's going on so you might as well just tell us." She lowered her voice and leaned in. "Has your scar been hurting?"

"No," Harry replied honestly.

"Are you having nightmares?"

"No," Harry replied less honestly.

"Are they about Cedric?" Hermione pressed.

"I don't want to talk about it, okay?" Harry warned. "Look, can't I have a spacey day without you getting all freaked out?"

"We're just worried, mate," Ron said apologetically.

"You don't need to be," Harry assured them. "Anyway, Hermione, I was wondering about something. How much of your family knows that you're a witch? Just your mum and dad?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. My close aunts and uncles know. We decided not to tell my grandmum because she's pretty strictly religious. We didn't let it spread too far. It's not like we send out Christmas cards with cauldrons on them or anything."

"But they're Muggles," Harry pointed out dumbly.

Hermione gave a little huff of laughter. "Well, yes. So are _your_ relatives, or did that slip your mind?"

"Yeah, but they _had_ to know since I was living with them, but why were your aunts and uncles allowed to know? What about the Statute?"

Hermione shrugged. "I hadn't really thought. They're family and we told them right away. I've never heard anything about it. I don't think my mum could have stood not telling anyone. I think both my parents needed a little support when this all came out. Professor McGonagall came out and explained it all very nicely and they couldn't deny the wandwork, but still, it's not every day you find out there's a witch in the family.

Harry nodded, a little excited. He had found his argument.

When Dumbledore stood and exited with a few other professors, Harry decided he too was done with breakfast. He said his quick goodbyes to Hermione and Ron and hurried off.

He followed Dumbledore at a small distance so not to interrupt the headmaster's conversation with Professor McGonagall, but as soon as she left, Dumbledore turned to him with a knowing smile.

"Something on your mind, Harry?"

A little embarrassed he hadn't been as subtle as he'd thought, Harry headed over. "Yes, sir. I had a question."

Dumbledore nodded. "Let's step into my office and you can tell me what's troubling you."

Harry followed Dumbledore to the stone gargoyle, going over in his head how he was going to avoid any unwanted questions.

They walked up the stairs, Dumbledore talking wistfully about the new candy line of the Weasley twins and how he particularly enjoyed Canary Creams. He offered Harry a seat, some tea and a lemon drop, though Harry only accepted the first of the three.

"So, Harry, I believe you had a question for me," Dumbledore prompted, looking over his half-moon spectacles.

"Well sir," Harry began with a deep breath. "I was wondering if...well I _know_ that...actually, I don't know but what I mean is...er..." Harry paused and mentally reprimanded himself for sounding like such an idiot. Dumbledore sipped his tea calmly, allowing Harry to compose his thoughts. "So there's this family that I've been staying with. A lot. I mean, they're practically my family now, more than the Dursleys have ever been. I know there are students who have relatives outside their immediate families who know they're a witch or wizard and I was wondering if I could tell these people too."

Harry didn't feel that was convincing enough and blurted out more, figuring that the more arguments he got in, the better his chances were. "You see, I've been staying over at their house and it's getting pretty difficult to hide all this. Anyway, I'd really like them to know so I don't have to lie anymore and could talk to them about it. If it's a question of blood connections, my uncle Vernon isn't blood related to me but he knows because I live with him, so couldn't I tell these people since I'm living with them part time too?"

Harry knew that was a bit of a stretch; he hadn't stayed at the Stenson's house much since the social worker dismissed his accusations, and hadn't even known the before the summer, but he might be going back for Christmas to stay with them and that counted, didn't it?

"Harry, you've been staying with another family?" Dumbledore asked earnestly. "May I ask why? And who?"

Harry blinked in surprise. "Oh, um, it's just my neighbors. They live within the wards and everything. I guess I just feel more at home there."

Dumbledore seemed appeased by that. "As long as you return to your relatives' home for part of the summer."

Harry nodded. "Of course."

"Well, Harry, I must admit it's a rather fuzzy area of the law as the boundaries are too difficult to define. What is generally decided among the magical community is that Muggles may be told of our presence under a few conditions. There must be a valid reason, as you appear to have. The rest relies on your judgment. If you tell this family, you must be certain they will tell no one else. The secret must stay with them, not being even passed to their closest friends. If that does occur, you could be in serious trouble with the ministry. Therefore, I can only say that it's up to you, but be very sure of the character of those you tell."

Harry bit his lip and nodded. He had no doubts about the character of any of the Stensons. There was no turning back now.

"Thank you sir. I know they won't tell."

Harry stood and turned toward the door.

"Harry," Dumbledore called after him. "Is there a specific reason you feel they must know this?"

Harry halted. If hadn't been facing the door, Dumbledore would have most definitely noticed the torn expression on his face. He didn't like lying to the headmaster and part of him wanted someone to tell what to do, but he knew he couldn't tell anyone.

He turned with a smile. "No sir. I just would like them to know."

Dumbledore didn't look convinced. "I trust your judgment," he said simply.

Harry's smile faltered and he left before Dumbledore saw.

He just wished he could have some of Dumbledore's faith.


	5. Chapter 5: Train Station Conversations

Ron and Hermione had both been rather surprised to find that Harry was going home for break and decided they would as well. It had never really hit Harry that his two best friends had given up staying with their families for most holidays just because of him. He couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

Still, it felt wonderful to walk by the list of people staying at Hogwarts for Christmas and not see his name. In fact, no student was staying this year. People wanted to be with their families during these hard times. Ron joked that it was for a different reason: that since he and Harry were leaving, nobody had a reason to stay.

"Oh come on, Harry, you know they're all thinking, ' _Well, if those two prize Gryffindor stud-muffins aren't staying, then what's the point?_ '" Ron said with a grin.

"Should we send out apology notes? We _are_ taking all the fun out of Hogwarts. And at Christmas too!" Harry joked.

"Nah, might just make 'em cry harder."

The two boys laughed happily as Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself.

-

Harry had never left Hogwarts for Christmas since he was enrolled. He had never before felt the joy of packing only part of his belongings, knowing that he'd be back soon. Best of all, he wasn't going to the Dursleys.

The train ride home was filled with students chatting excitedly about their holiday plans. At one point, a group of rowdy Hufflepuffs started singing carols, mostly unfamiliar wizard ones, but Harry recognized a few Muggle ones as well and he and Hermione smiled at each other and started singing along. Ron and Ginny began singing the wizard ones until it dissolved into a silly battle of caroling.

Another departure from what Harry was used to was that many students were practicing magic to show their parents. Magic wasn't forbidden during winter vacation as it was during summer so students would have a small opportunity to show their parents what they had learned.

When they arrived at the station, Harry saw the Stensons at Platform 8, where he had told them to wait, thinking that seeing him appear from a wall might be too startling of a way to say "Guess what: I'm a wizard!"

He quickly ran over to them, saying something about a mix up in platform numbers. The Weasleys and Hermione came up to be introduced and, for once, Harry didn't have to be embarrassed by the people picking him up from the station.

Ron gave Harry a discreet nod to communicate that he had informed his family about the Stensons' ignorance of magic.

The introduction dissolved into awkward confusion far too quickly.

Mr. Stenson asked Mr. Weasley what he did for a living. Mr. Weasley couldn't exactly say he worked at the Ministry of Magic in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department, so he quickly turned to Harry and Hermione for support. Fortunately, both were on their toes and quickly blurted a Muggle job Mr. Weasley could call his own. _Un_ fortunately, Hermione firmly stated, "dentist" while Harry simultaneously declared, "lawyer." It got worse when they both tried to fix it, Hermione saying he was a dentist for lawyers while Harry said he was a lawyer for dentists.

The Stensons laughed uncertainly, but seemed even more confused by the absolutely dumbfounded expression on Mr. Weasley's face. Everybody jumped in to try to save the mistakes, but as the Weasleys had no idea what dentists or lawyers were, things became very confusing very fast.

Things were getting to the point of insanity when Dakota gasped and grabbed her father's hand.

"Harry's uncle! He's here!" she squealed in panic.

Harry whipped his head around and, sure enough, his uncle was walking around Platform 9 3/4, no doubt searching for his nephew. He must have suspected he would try to stay with the Stensons and despite his loathing for Harry, his feud with the Stensons was apparently more important.

Everyone turned back around, looking on edge. Hermione and the Weasleys weren't aware of the seriousness of the circumstances, but definitely understood it was a bad situation.

Dakota kept yanking on her dad's hand anxiously. "Dad, dad? What do we do? What do we do?" she squeaked in an abnormally high voice under her breath.

Harry, on the other hand, froze like a deer caught in headlights. The deafening sound of his heart pounding against his ribcage was only slightly muffled by the screams in his head telling his disobedient legs to run. If his uncle saw him, he would spend two weeks back there. He couldn't go back. He didn't want to go back there!

Thankfully, Mr. Stenson kept his cool and snapped Harry out of his stupor with a firm hand on the shoulder. He shoved his car keys into Kota's hand and told her to get Harry out of there.

Harry shoved Hedwig's cage into Ron's hands and told him to send Hedwig to him when they got back to the Burrow. He looked up to see his uncle's head swivel in their direction. He ducked. He peeked through the crowd to see his Uncle Vernon's face well up in fury at seeing the Weasleys and the Stensons together. He began to stalk over, his face growing more purple with each step he took.

Kota grabbed his hand and pulled him into a small group of people walking by. The two hid among the taller adults.

When they were safely away from the turmoil that was sure to start, Harry grabbed Kota's arm and whispered that he wanted to see what was happening. She bit her lip and looked like she was going to protest, but then admitted that she did too. They slipped behind a pillar and peeked out, just close enough to see and hear what was happening.

"Don't tell me you didn't come here to pick up that boy, Stenson. Why else would you be talking to them?" he demanded, nodding at the Weasleys with a scowl.

"Oh crap, good question," whispered Kota.

Mr. Weasley looked at the Stensons with a look of surprise on his face. "Wait, you know Harry? Harry Potter?"

There was a pause and then the rest jumped in, playing along with gasps of, "Oh my goodness!" and "Talk about a small world!" along with another round of fake introductions.

Harry let out an incredulous breath of laughter. "Good save!" He felt a bit like a Quidditch commentator.

"Absolutely brilliant!" Kota replied excitedly.

"I don't buy that for one second! I know he's here somewhere. You're hiding him, aren't you?" He pointed a shaking finger at Mr. Stenson. "You know you're breaking the law if you have him in your home!" Realizing how stupid the comment was, Uncle Vernon immediately shut up. The Weasleys and Hermione seemed taken aback at that comment while the Stensons sported looks of tamed fury. Harry was swept with a wave of humiliation. He desperately hoped the conversation wouldn't turn down that road. He felt Kota cast a sympathetic glance in his direction, making his face burn even more.

"Dursley," Mr. Stenson started in a cold voice, "my family's business does not concern you. I suggest you leave or-"

"Or what?" Vernon barked.

"Or I'll punch you again, you son of a bitch."

Mrs. Stenson put a hand on her husband's arm. "Rick, don't."

"Don't you dare threaten me!" Vernon bellowed. "Your business concerns me if it has to do with the boy!"

"The _boy_?" Mr. Stenson repeated. "If you're going to try to play the act of caring guardian, you might want to work, on your story, Dursley."

This was going in a bad direction and fast. Harry looked desperately to Kota, who nodded and jogged over to her family, interrupting her father before he could say anything else incriminating.

"Uncle Dan's train was delayed," she invented. "The man said they got stuck in a snowstorm and will be staying the night. He said we should go home and come back tomorrow." She turned to Vernon as if noticing him for the first time. "Hello Mr. Dursley, are you picking up Dudley from school?"

Vernon merely glared angrily.

"Well, er, thank you for the directions and Ron will be sure to mention to Harry that we met you when he returns to school," Mr. Weasley said. The Weasleys looked reluctant to leave, but Mr. Weasley ushered them away nonetheless. Hermione caught sight of her parents and headed toward them, glancing over her shoulder to make sure the situation had cooled.

Uncle Vernon seemed to recognize his defeat.

"If I catch that boy in your house, there'll be hell to pay," he threatened and turned with an angry snort.

"You'll never step foot in our house, so you don't have to worry about that," Mrs. Stenson called.

The Stensons made a show of looking at a list of the next day's train schedules until Vernon was safely out of sight. Then, they all hurried to the car together, Mr. Stenson walking close to Harry as they all kept an eye out for Uncle Vernon.


	6. Chapter 6: Christmas Revelations

Harry's winter holiday was going fantastically.

For once, he truly felt part of a family. Even with the Weasleys, he has always been a guest, but things were different with the Stensons. They let him help pick out, put up, and decorate the Christmas tree, a tradition he'd never been allowed to take part in before. There was always hot chocolate, hot apple cider, or eggnog being passed around to make the season even more felt. Despite Harry's embarrassed objections, there were even a few presents under the tree with his name on it. Hedwig was in and out of the house, bringing him wrapped presents with warnings not to open until Christmas written all over them. At Kota's urging, he happily put these gifts under the tree as well.

Finally, Christmas morning arrived. It began with Kota racing into his room, yelling for him to get up while Harry recovered from the near-heart-attack he'd had when she'd suddenly flung on his lights. When everyone was downstairs, Harry set aside the presents from him and told the Stensons they would have to be last because they required an explanation. The Stensons began searching for presents with their names on it, laughing with joy as they began to open the packages, and Harry abruptly realized that he had no idea what to do. He had opened presents when they were on the end of his bed at Hogwarts, but he was unsure if there was a special way to go about opening presents under a Christmas tree. Was he supposed to just grab his and start opening? Was there a special order in which he was supposed to open them? Did he have a turn he was supposed to wait for?

"Harry, open this one, it's from me," Kota instructed, handing him a brightly wrapped box.

Harry smiled in relief as he took a seat on the floor beside his friend and began to unwrap the gift. It was a picture frame that contained a Muggle photo from a day when they had both attempted to cook brownies. A chaotic sugar-high had overtaken them and they had made a huge mess. In the photo, they were both covered in flour, cocoa powder and bits of dark batter. Kota had jumped onto Harry's back and they were both sticking their tongues out at the camera. Harry laughed out loud and thanked her genuinely.

"Everyone out to have loads of pictures," Kota explained wisely. "Now you can show all your friends at that school of yours what a cute neighbor you have. For example, hypothetically of course, you could show it to George Weasley and see if he's maybe swept away just a little?"

On the way home from King's Cross, Kota had announced that she thought the Weasley twins were cute. She had chosen George after Harry informed her that Fred had a girlfriend.

"Now, Dakota, you know you're too young for boys. You're not allowed to date until you're married," said Mr. Stenson. Kota rolled her eyes at the familiar scolding and handed Harry the gift from her parents.

It was a very small box that Harry opened with care. He had been wondering what it was ever since he and Dakota had crawled around under the tree shaking boxes, until one of his started shaking him back and he had to put it down before Kota noticed.

Inside the box was a key. Harry looked up questioningly at the couple.

Mrs. Stenson smiled fondly. "Harry, that's a key to our house. You can use it any time you want. You're always welcome here."

Harry felt stunned. "Thank you," he blurted. "Are you sure?"

"Of course we're sure," Mr. Stenson said warmly.

Harry had never gotten a greater gift. They couldn't know what it meant to him and there was no way he could express his gratitude. He just cast them a somewhat wobbly smile and let Kota hug him with an embarrassing, "Awww."

It finally came time for the big moment when Kota began lustfully eyeing the packages in the corner.

"Um, so like I said before, my presents need explaining," Harry started uncertainly. "Because I need to tell you something very important but I'm not really sure how."

Mr. and Mrs. Stenson exchanged a concerned look and Harry very much hoped they wouldn't be soon calling in the men with straight-jackets.

"Well, you see, a few years ago these letters..." He paused and figured that wasn't the right way to say it. "Well, the school I go to..." That wasn't it either. He sighed, giving up on cushioning the blow. "What would you say if I told you I was a wizard?"

Looking relieved, the Stensons all laughed at what they all clearly thought was a joke.

"Well, I'd start with figuring out what rascal spiked the eggnog," Mrs. Stenson teased.

"Mom, that's not the game," Kota chastised. "I'd have you turn that ugly sweater I got from Aunt Carline into something less scary." She held up the horrific neon orange and green polka-dotted sweater she had opened earlier with a cry of disgust.

"I'd ask you to use your powers to clean up all this wrapping paper," said Mr. Stenson, "this place is a disaster."

"Bo-ring," heckled Kota in a sing-song voice.

Harry pulled out his wand and used a banishing charm to send the pile of discarded wrapping paper into the trash bin and then transfigured Kota's sweater into a blue scarf.

"I can't really help you with the eggnog, Mrs. Stenson, but I don't think it's been spiked," Harry apologized.

The Stensons stared at Harry, eyes wide and jaws hanging open. All was silent for a very uncomfortable minute until Harry sighed and pushed their gifts toward them.

"Go ahead, open them," Harry said. "I promise they aren't dangerous."

As if in a trance, they all slowly unwrapped the presents Harry had found for them.

Harry hadn't been quite sure what to get them, especially the two adults. He had never had to shop for anyone but his friends. Hermione helped him pick out some things in Hogsmeade: slightly magical items, but ones that were easy and safe for Muggles to use. For the adults, he had chosen a blanket that always kept a person at the temperature they wanted to be, whether warming them up or cooling them down. For Kota, a trip to the candy shop and Zonkos had finished the job.

The Stensons seemed stuck in a stupor while Harry explained how to use the presents.

After a long pause, Harry sighed.

"Are you guys going to say anything?" he asked hopefully.

Kota looked from him to the scarf to the trashcan to the foreign candy in her hand and back to Harry again.

"Oh. My. God," she breathed. Harry laughed, and a grin slowly dawned across Kota's face.

"How can this be?" Mrs. Stenson muttered to herself. She then looked up to him in a sort of awe. "So the school you go to..."

"Is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Harry gently finished for her.

"So the Weasleys..." started Mr. Stenson.

"Wizards and witches," Harry confirmed. "That's why we had trouble with his occupation. He's the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office in the Ministry of Magic."

"Muggle?" Mr. Stenson repeated.

"Non-magic people."

"Like us," Kota stated with a hint of disappointed. Harry nodded.

"Wait, the Durlseys..."

"No, they're Muggles. That's why they hate me so much, actually. My mum, Aunt Petunia's sister, was a witch born into a Muggle family. My aunt hated her so much, was so jealous of her, that I guess it just got passed on to me when I had to go live with them. They don't want me to ruin their picturesquely normal family by being different."

Mrs. Stenson got up from her seat on the floor and sat next to Harry on the couch, putting and arm around his shoulders.

"The Dursleys have no excuse to hate you no matter if you're a..." she faltered, looking flustered, "no matter what. It's not something wrong with you, it's something wrong with them. Do you understand that?"

Harry found a sudden interest in his knees. He nodded, still looking down. Mrs. Stenson put a finger under his chin and gently lifted until Harry was looking into her face.

"You deserve so much more than that, dear."

Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't really want to talk about it so he just gave a weak smile and nodded again.

"One thing, though," Harry remembered. "You can't tell anyone. If you do, I could be punished severely."

They all vowed not to breathe a word to anyone.

"Too bad you didn't only tell me," Kota said. "I wouldn't have minded having you put a spell on my parents to let me date." She smirked at the glare her father cast her and Harry smiled at how well it had all gone.

They spent the rest of the day listening to Harry answer all their questions about the wizarding world. Everyone tried pieces of candy and had fun levitating or talking like mice, even spitting out the nastier flavors of Bertie Bott's Beans. Harry showed them charms and spells to their great delight. Harry wondered if Hermione and Ron were doing something similar with their families.

It was a very good day.

-

That night, Harry caught Mr. Stenson alone in his study.

"Hi, do you have a minute?" Harry asked, poking his head in.

"Of course, Harry, come have a seat," Mr. Stenson said, looking up from some paperwork and taking off his reading glasses to give Harry his complete attention. Harry closed the door behind him and sat across the desk from Mr. Stenson.

"I'm going to tell you something, but I don't want you to get your hopes up. Along with the possible pros there are some serious possible cons." Harry paused and Mr. Stenson nodded for him to continue. "I found an old spell that might take away your cancer, but there are some big risks. It hasn't been performed in many years, so I'd have no one to instruct me in it. If anything goes wrong, if I don't pronounce a word right even, I don't know what the consequences to you would be. It could kill you. So, if you have a chance of recovering on your own, you may not want to try it."

As Harry talked, Mr. Stenson's face had begun to shine with hope. The man closed his eyes and ran his hands over his face. When he opened his eyes again, they were wet with threatening tears.

"Harry, you don't know what this means to me. There's no way I could ever thank you enough. This means another chance with my family. How far along can I be before you perform the spell?"

Harry noticed Mr. Stenson's hands shaking and felt a surge of belief in what he was doing.

"It can be performed anytime as long as you're alive. If you want to wait until it's closer to February, just in case, that's fine with me. You may have to pretend you're the Dursleys to get me out of school, but I'm sure it can be arranged."

"Jesus, Harry. Yes. I'll do it despite the risks. The treatments weren't working. I don't know if Dakota told you, but I stopped chemotherapy treatments a few weeks ago. Damn things nearly killed me faster than the cancer. This was going to be my last Christmas. I just...thank you."

"You don't have to thank me after all your family's done for me. You saved me from the Dursleys, really. I just hope I can save you in return." Harry surprised himself with how sincere he was. Seeing Mr. Stenson's joy seemed to make him forget his own fear, at least a little.

"I can't wait to tell Dakota and Kathryn. I'll wait until morning so you can get some sleep tonight."

Mr. Stenson walked Harry up to his room in silence. There was just nothing left to say.

Harry slipped under the covers that night with a smile, replaying Mr. Stenson's grateful response in his head, feeling much better about the sacrifice he had just agreed to make.

-

The next morning, Harry was on his way down for breakfast when two crying females rushed up the stairs toward him. Harry's instincts told him to flee from the approaching, hormonal stampede, but before he could turn, two pairs of arms wrapped around him and Kota and her mother sobbed into his shoulders, crying out, "Thank you," every time they paused in their weeping.

Harry was grateful when Mr. Stenson pulled them off and Mrs. Stenson ran off, wiping her tears on her sleeve and promising to cook up a huge feast in celebration. Harry had never been very comfortable with emotional females.

Now, though, he really felt the pressure for this spell to work.

"Harry, I was wrong," Dakota said with a huge smile. "I guess you can change the world."

Harry only hoped he could.

-

That night, Harry and Kota were watching a Christmas film when the front door burst open with a crash. They both jumped up, Harry gripped onto Kota in terror as his worst nightmare came true.

An enraged Uncle Vernon started toward them.


	7. Chapter 7: The Transfer

Uncle Vernon's eyes fell on Harry and he snarled furiously. In just a few strides, he reached his nephew and had a handful of the raven hair clutched in his meaty fist. Kota shouted at Harry to do a spell and Harry finally remembered he had his wand, but Vernon easily wrestled it from him and threw it across the room. Kota screamed and Harry grabbed his uncle's wrists to relieve the pressure on his scalp as the man dragged him toward the door.

The man reeked of alcohol.

Mr. and Mrs. Stenson ran down the stairs and jumped between them and the door.

"I _knew_ it," Vernon barked with a sharp tug to Harry's hair. "I warned you not to try to make a fool out of me, Stenson. This is kidnapping!"

"Let him go!" cried Mrs. Stenson, but Uncle Vernon just jerked Harry close. His fat arm snaked around Harry's neck to hold him in place. Clumsily, Vernon something black and shiny out of his pocket and Harry tried to see what it was. He stilled in terror once he caught a glimpse. The Stensons all took a step back and Mr. Stenson yelled for Kota to get down.

It was a gun.

Everything went from an angered frenzy to a desperate calm in that moment.

"Dursley, put the gun down. If you hurt anyone here in any way, you know you'll be in more trouble with the police than we would ever be for having Harry. Don't do something stupid," Mr. Stenson said, hands held up in front of him as if trying to calm a growling dog.

Vernon waved the gun around carelessly and the Stensons flinched, ready to duck or dive at a moment's notice, knowing it might not be fast enough. Harry, however, was stuck. His uncle may not be sober enough to hit a moving target, but one he was holding in his arms didn't present a great challenge. In a panic, Harry struggled to pull away, but Vernon just gripped him tighter, barely noticing.

" _I_ can do whatever I _want_ with _my_ nephew!" Vernon raved. "He's _mine_ and I'm not going to let you treat the filthy little freak like a _king_ when he should be serving _us_ to make up for all the misery he's brought my family!"

"You can't shoot him, Vernon," Mr. Stenson reasoned. "It doesn't matter if you're his guardian, you can't harm him."

"IT'S MY RIGHT!" Vernon bellowed furiously. He jammed the barrel against Harry's temple and pressed hard as if to prove his point. Harry shut his eyes tightly, scared the gun would go off whether on purpose or not.

Thankfully, Vernon pulled it away again and clumsily shoved it back into his pocket. "But I won't because I'm a good guardian. More than this _boy_ ," he gave Harry a hard shake, "deserves. A stake through the heart is what he needs...a burning on a cross...but I won't. I won't get in trouble with those...those _freaks_." He paused angrily, breathing heavily. It seemed he'd forgotten his train of thought. "I'm taking the boy with me. You come near him again, I'll call the cops! They didn't believe you then and they won't believe you now and if you try, I swear I'll kill him and make it look like an accident!"

Vernon yanked Harry toward the door. He stumbled in his drunken stupor and nearly pulled Harry down with him before the heavy man righted himself.

"Don't make me pull out my gun again!" he threatened and Mr. Stenson helplessly stepped out of the way.

Vernon pulled Harry out into the cold, then let go. He seized Harry's wrist to pull him along, aware of appearances even while he muttered to himself about evil and voodoo and punishment.

Harry glanced back longingly. The Stensons stood at the door, watching him go, but it was obvious they didn't know how to help him anymore.

-

As soon as the door closed behind them at 4 Privet Drive, Uncle Vernon punched him. Harry fell to the floor, clutching his cheek, but Vernon quickly grabbed his hair and half-dragged him to the cupboard under the stairs, threw him inside, and slid the deadbolt into place with a heavy "thunk".

"You stay where you belong, you nasty little worm," Uncle Vernon hissed through the vent, "or I'll make sure you can't even _crawl_ back to that house."

Harry winced as the grate slammed shut.

Harry lay on his cot, glaring at the ceiling while glasses and bottles clinked in the kitchen for another hour or so. Vernon muttered to himself as he stumbled around.

Harry put his hands over his ears to block out the sounds, not wanting to listen to what his uncle's drunken rants.

Angry tears welled up in Harry's eyes. He shut his lids tightly and forced them back.

Merry Christmas to him.

-

The next week, Harry was only let out of his cupboard for chores. The usual grunt work was annoying, but the Dursleys made him serve them food in the living room and clean up after them and _that_ really made things awful. He was nothing but a despised servant again.

He daydreamed about the warm ham and potatoes of the Stensons while he went back to meals of bread crusts or moldy cheese. It seemed being thrust so suddenly back into his life of meager meals made him feel all the more famished. His stomach ached hollowly whenever he smelled the Dursley's dinner cooking.

At least it was only a week. As long as he stayed away from his uncle, and his uncle stayed away from the liquor cabinet, he would survive it as he had survived the previous summer.

-

After what seemed like an eternity of torture, it was finally January third, the day before he could go back to Hogwarts. He cautiously mentioned this to his uncle the evening before and even more warily reminded him that the Stensons still had all his belongings.

"SHHHHH!" Dudley hushed angrily, eyes stuck to the glowing screen.

"If it would be easier for you," he said in a very soft voice, hoping not to set the man off, "Dakota Stenson could drive me. It's really out of your way and I could get my things and..."

"Don't even think about it," Vernon cut him off, barely tearing his eyes from the TV screen. "I'll drive you and we'll pick up your ruddy things on the way."

Harry nodded in disappointment and returned to the sink of dishes.

While lost in his thoughts, Harry became aware of a soft tapping at the window. Hedwig was quietly asking to be let in.

Harry peeked in to make sure the Dursleys were glued to the television and inched up the glass pane, leaving the water running to divert any suspicion. Hedwig held out her leg and Harry realized there was a purpose to Hedwig's visit besides checking up on him.

He removed the small piece of paper and read a sloppily scribbled note from Dakota.

 _Harry-  
Dad passed out. We're at the hospital and I don't think it's good. I think he might die. Please come quick.  
-Kota_

Harry stared in shock. Mr. Stenson was supposed to have until February! He quickly scratched his own note on the back:

 _I'll be there ASAP. I have to wait until the Dursleys are asleep. Just get your Dad to hang on until then. If it becomes an emergency send Hedwig right away.  
-Harry_

Hedwig snatched the note from him in her talons and flew off purposefully. Harry shut the window behind her and went back to the dishes, keeping an eye on the clock that counted down to when whatever the Dursleys were watching would be over.

Finally, the TV was clicked off and the Dursleys went up to bed. Harry made a show of scrubbing the kitchen floor so Aunt Petunia just left him without a word, assuming there was no reason to lock him up for the night. He listened carefully until there were no more sounds of his relatives creeping around.

He tiptoed to the backdoor and slipped out.

The night's air was bitingly cold and Harry shivered in his less-than-adequate clothes. He quietly ran out front and hurried down the deserted street to the Stenson's, using the key they had given him to get in.

He raced up to the guest room where his trunk lay neatly packed, his wand sitting neatly on top. The Stensons had obviously gotten his things ready for him, which made him sad for a reason he couldn't quite understand. He quickly dug out the potion he'd made earlier in the break while everyone had holed themselves up in their rooms wrapping presents. He had thankfully already gone through the pronunciation of the spell; he had wanted to make sure it was even doable before he got Mr. Stenson's hopes up. He certainly wasn't as confident in it as he would have liked, having thought he had much more time to memorize it perfectly, but depending on what the doctors said, he might not have a choice but to take the risk.

From there, he sprinted the three miles to the hospital.

-

The halls of the hospital were white and well lit. Harry knew the atmosphere gave a lot of people the creeps, but he had never had a bad experience in a hospital or even been to one, so he found it almost comforting. In such a sterile, Muggle environment, it was hard to imagine the spell going wrong. He simply couldn't picture something so chaotic happening in such an orderly place.

The receptionist gave him the room number and he hurried up. As he approached the room, he saw Kota and Mrs. Stenson sitting in chairs in the hallway, both looking grim. When they caught sight of him, they both jumped to their feet.

"How is he?"

"He's all right for now. The doctors say he only has a few days left," Mrs. Stenson said worriedly. She frowned and she cupped his cheek, ghosting her thumb over the fading bruise on his cheek. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry. We didn't know what..."

"It's nothing," he cut her off, embarrassed. "Can I see him?"

Mrs. Stenson nodded sadly and ushered him through the nearest door.

When they entered the room, Mr. Stenson was sleeping and his wife had to shake him awake. He looked exhausted and shaky and Harry tried to hide his surprise at how much the man had gone downhill in just a week. Harry thought briefly that he would look the same in a few months. When that happened, though, there would be no miracle cure waiting.

"Hey there, Harry," Mr. Stenson started, his wife helping him sit against his pillows. He ushered Harry over with a weak smile, but as Harry walked over, the smile slammed into a deep frown. "He hit you again. And your temple...Jesus."

Harry blushed and looked away, feeling frustratingly ashamed. He knew his temple still was purple from where Vernon had jabbed the gun into it. He didn't want to talk about that, though. It just made him feel weak while he needed to be strong.

"Doesn't matter," Harry dismissed. "I'm going back to school again tomorrow."

"We're going to think of a way to get you out of there, okay?" Mr. Stenson vowed.

Harry nodded. He had already found his own way out. If he was dead by the time summer rolled around, he wouldn't have to spend another second with his relatives.

"Are you ready to try the spell?" Harry asked, his stomach tensing with nerves. "You do remember about the possible consequences, right?"

Mr. Stenson nodded, but didn't look nearly as worried as Harry felt. "Of course. Why don't you give me a minute with my family, just in case."

Harry was briefly stung that that didn't include him, but knew that was unfair. Just because he'd been waiting for a family all his life didn't mean the Stensons were accepting applications for a son. Not yet, anyway. But maybe once they found out what he'd done...

Harry waited in the hall as the Stensons had their moment. He pulled out the crumpled paper and tried to still his shaking hands by reading through it, his lips moving in soft whispers. At this point, he couldn't learn it any better, but going through it mechanically took his mind off what could happen if things went wrong...or what would happen if they went right.

He jumped when the door opened and Mrs. Stenson emerged with a sobbing Kota and gestured him in.

Harry's legs felt shaky but they carried him to Mr. Stenson's side. He took an empty cup off the nightstand and filled it with half the potion. He gave it to a waiting Mr. Stenson, who looked at the swirling brown liquid warily.

"What exactly is in this?"

"Um, eye of newt, bat droppings, tongue of dog..."

Mr. Stenson paled even further.

Harry smirked. "Just kidding. Mostly just herbs and stuff. Remember to focus on expelling the cancer, okay? Concentrate as hard as you can. So, just drink up and be prepared for an awful taste," he said, raising the vial to his own lips.

"Wait, Harry," Mr. Stenson said, putting up a hand. "Just in case this is the last time I can say it, I want you to know that if I'd ever had a son, I hope he would've turned out like you."

Harry inhaled sharply, stunned by the compliment. Nobody had ever said anything like that before. After a long pause, not knowing how to respond, Harry finally spoke.

"Well, if this works, you'll still have time to have that son."

With that, Harry downed his portion of the potion in one gulp. It was absolutely putrid and Harry was afraid it would come back up. As he pulled out the paper, he noticed he was feeling dizzy and, more oddly, felt like something cold was swimming around inside of him. Still, it was better than Polyjuice.

"Okay, it's down for now," Mr. Stenson said, looking slightly green around the gills.

Harry pulled out his wand and took a deep breath. "All right, here goes. Just lie down and close your eyes. I'm guessing this won't feel too good."

Having made sure Mr. Stenson followed his instructions, Harry took a deep breath and began reading off the spell.

After the first time through, Mr. Stenson balled his hands into fists with a pained grunt, his face grimacing in pain. A green glow surrounded him and began turning redder and redder until there was no trace of green. Mr. Stenson became visibly relaxed but was still gasping for breath, keeping his eyes tightly closed.

Harry read it a second time and at the end, his own body began to tingle. It was uncomfortable and made him want to scratch all over. The light around Mr. Stenson gathered into a red sphere above his chest.

Harry read the spell one last time.

A jet of light shot out from the sphere and hit Harry in the chest. Harry dropped his wand and gasped for breath, but couldn't. It _hurt_. He slapped his hands over the spot where the light was attacking him, praying it would stop it, but the light went through his hands as if they weren't there.

Harry dropped to his knees, his vision wavering. Instead of blackness, all he could see was red. Red everywhere. The spell had failed. It was killing him.

He looked up to Mr. Stenson in apology, but the man was lying deathly still.

The last thing Harry saw was the last of the malevolent red light being sucked into his chest.

-

"Harry. Harry!"

Harry felt a pair of hands gently shake him and he opened his eyes, blinking up at Kota in momentary confusion. He tried to speak but it came out as a groan.

Then, suddenly remembering what had happened, he jolted upright.

"Are you alright?" she asked him worriedly. She probably hadn't expected to come in and find him unconscious on the floor. In all fairness, he hadn't known about that either.

"Yeah," he said, as she helped him stand, "I'm okay. How's your dad?"

She stepped aside to let Harry see the hospital bed. Mr. Stenson sat upright, very much alive and livelier than he had been before. Mrs. Stenson sat beside him, clutching his hand.

"Does this mean it worked?" Mrs. Stenson asked hopefully.

"Kathryn," Mr. Stenson chided quietly, then turned to Harry. "Are you okay? What happened?'

Harry shrugged. "It was a big spell. It was just a bit much, I guess, but I'm fine now. How do you feel?"

"Better than I have in quite a while. I don't feel any symptoms," he reported cautiously.

"Well, before you get your hopes up, can you get retested for it?" Harry asked. He prayed he hadn't messed things up after all this. The Stensons would hate him.

Mr. Stenson pushed a button to call for the nurse, who in turn fetched a doctor at Mr. Stenson's strange request.

"This type of cancer doesn't just turn around like that, especially this late. It's impossible," the doctor said apologetically.

"Listen, I'll pay whatever it costs but I want the tests done," Mr. Stenson insisted.

Eventually, he wore the man down and the doctor drew a blood sample. He said a quick test should show the cancer since it was at such an advanced stage.

They waited for hours...agonizingly long hours with no word until the doctor came back, looking dazed and mystified. It reminded Harry abruptly of Lockhart after he had lost his memory.

"It seems..." He paused and shook his head as though he couldn't believe what he was about to say. "It seems that in at least preliminary tests, we...we can't find any trace of the cancer. We'll have to do more extensive testing to see if there are any traces, but frankly, Mr. Stenson, you're a medical miracle. I guess you're free to go for now and we'll call you if we find anything."

He opened and closed his mouth as if wanting to say something that made sense, but finding himself at a loss. Giving up, the doctor left the room.

There was laughter and tears and Harry was showered with hugs and thanks.

-

The Stensons drove Harry home, or near to his house so not to get him in trouble. Harry let them know he'd be stopping by the next day to pick up his belongings and waved goodbye as they drove off.

Harry slipped quickly around back and opened the door without a sound. The house was completely dark. He pulled off his shoes and tiptoed back to his cupboard, too high from all the praise and happiness of the evening to think much about what the spell meant for him.

He opened his cupboard door, eager for sleep. He started to step in but stilled as the kitchen door creaked open behind him.

Harry whirled around to find his uncle standing in the doorway, a near-empty whisky bottle in hand and a deadly gleam in his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8: Punishment

"So...sneaking out in the middle of the night to see that family. I think I told you not to do that," Vernon said in a dangerously calm voice. He staggered toward his nephew, using the wall to keep himself upright.

"It was an emergency..." Harry started but was slammed up against the wall and was too afraid to continue.

"You were planning your revenge, weren't you?" Vernon shouted furiously into Harry's face. "You think you can pull one over on me? You think you can SCARE ME? I'll SHOW you SCARED."

"No. Please. Don't," Harry gasped out in fright. He shut his eyes and turns his face to the side as his uncle's fist shot toward him. There was searing pain in his cheek and he hit the floor. He opened his eyes again and Vernon was stalking toward him. The heavy man tripped over his own feet and knocked over a table as he righted himself. Alcohol sloshed out of the bottle in Vernon's hand, splashing the bottoms of Harry's trousers.

"How-how DARE you humiliate me!" Vernon bellowed and Harry didn't know if he meant the sneaking out or was blaming his lack of coordination on Harry's magic.

"Please, Uncle Vernon. I'm going back to school tomorrow! People will see!" Harry tried to reason as he scrambled away.

Vernon was beyond reason and the man lumbered toward him. Harry tried to clamber to his feet but a boot connected with his side and he collapsed in shock and pain. Then Vernon was kicking him in the stomach, again and again...

"Vernon?"

With his uncle's foot heavy on his chest, pinning him to the floor, Harry looked over to see his aunt at the top of the stairs.

"Aunt Petunia," Harry pleaded tearfully, "help me please! Get him off me! I can't breathe!"

Vernon's foot pushed harder on his chest and Harry let out a scream of pain.

"Shut up boy!" Vernon growled. "Shut UP!"

Harry's arms flew up to cover his face just in time. Vernon kicked at his arms with his boot.

"Vernon," his aunt's voice came in alarm, "stop hitting his face! We don't need those people banging at our door."

"Let them try to threaten me! I'll kill 'em!" Vernon snarled. He turned to look at his wife. "I could kill them all. I could kill _anyone_! _Nobody_ will tell me what to do with the boy. Not _them_ or that blasted _family_ or even _you_! You understand? I could kill _anyone_!"

Aunt Petunia stared at him for a moment and then nodded with a frown. "Of course you could, Vernon."

"Aunt Petunia, please," Harry begged, his voice shaking in desperation. He knew she would rather Vernon beat up Harry than her or Dudley, but he still had to believe she would keep him from too much harm. She was the only mother he'd ever known. "He's hurting me!"

But Aunt Petunia refused to meet his eye.

"What's going on?"

Dudley came into view beside his mother, clad in his pajamas and a warm dressing gown.

Aunt Petunia turned and tried to usher him back down the hall. "Darling, go back to bed now. Nothing's happening, just go."

But Dudley peeked around her arms and looked down on the scene. "What's going on? Dad?"

"I'm teaching the boy a lesson," Vernon explained, his words slurring. He took another swig of alcohol straight from the bottle. "He's gonna pay for disrespecting me."

"Dad, are you drunk?" Dudley asked in surprise, looking to his mother for confirmation. Aunt Petunia went pale.

Harry couldn't believe they had managed to keep Vernon's drinking problem from Dudley for so long. It was so blindingly obvious! But then Dudley had always been astonishingly self-absorbed.

Vernon's face turned purple and to Harry's utter shock, he stepped over Harry and stumbled toward the stairs. "WHAT DID YOU SAY?" he bellowed furiously. "I am NOT drunk! Are you DISRESPECTING me?"

Dudley's jaw dropped and Petunia pushed at him to leave. Harry dizzily climbed to his feet and took in deep lung-fulls of air despite the pain doing so caused. Petunia looked down the stairs at her husband. "Darling," she said in horror, "Dudley and I respect you very much. We love you."

Vernon continued up the stairs and Harry stared, unsure of what to do. He wanted to run, but he couldn't just leave Petunia and Dudley. He had never thought Vernon was a threat to anyone else, but it seemed like he was. He forced himself to think through the fog of panic.

It abruptly occurred to him that he had his wand.

His eyes connected with his aunt's as he pulled his wand from his pocket, trying to communicate that he would help, that it would be okay. He could feel the blood dripping down his face and his head was pounding. He held out his wand in his shaking hand, but his mind was blank with fear as he struggled to think of an appropriate spell that would stop Vernon but not leave him dangerously tumbling down the stairs.

Petunia looked from Vernon to Harry and back. "Vernon, the boy!" she suddenly shouted. "He's got his wand!"

Vernon whirled around, nearly tripping down the stairs on his own. Harry froze at the unexpected betrayal.

" _Stupify_!" Harry yelled.

It didn't work. His hand was shaking too hard and he hadn't gotten the wand movement quite right. It was like he was suddenly a first year again, knowing how the spell should go, but his mind was blanking on how to actually make it work. While his fear around Voldemort had always left his head strangely clear and his hand weirdly steady, around Vernon all his instinct seemed to abandon him and he could only think of running.

His uncle hurled himself down the stairs toward him.

Harry opened his mouth and made a strangled sound. " _Petrificus Totalus_!"

His wand lit up but did nothing else. The spell failed. Harry didn't know if he had mispronounced it or gotten the wand movement wrong...his only thought was to get away as his uncle lumbered toward him.

He blindly turned and ran, but Vernon grabbed him around the waist and wrestled the wand from his hand. He tried kicking at the bigger man's knee or groin or foot, but he had no shoes on to make the kicks hurt and Vernon was too drunk to register pain anyway.

It happened so suddenly, Harry barely knew what was happening. He just knew that there was a thunderous shattering sound and he was staring at the ceiling and his back was on fire.

His head flopped weakly to the side with a low moan. He was lying in broken glass. The glass table. He'd been thrown through the glass table.

He looked over at his uncle, horrified to see the man trying to snap his wand. But the stick wouldn't break and to Harry's great relief, Vernon tossed it away in annoyance.

Then, Vernon had his ankle and was dragging him across the floor, the glass digging its way into his back, deep into the muscle. Harry screamed in agony, kicking out with his free foot at Vernon's arms, trying to wiggle away. It was no use.

Finally, the movement stopped and he could only stare at the ceiling, focusing on breathing and wishing the pain would just end.

He couldn't scream anymore as Vernon yanked him up by the shirt and threw him into the cupboard.

Harry hit the wall and everything went black.

-

The first thing Harry was aware of was that he hurt...a lot.

He tried to sink back down into the comfort of unconsciousness, but the pain nagged at him and pulled him back to the surface. He reluctantly wrenched his eyes open and found himself staring at the crate under his cot. He was confused but simply lay there until he remembered everything. He couldn't believe how useless he had been the night before. It made him just want to disappear so he didn't have to deal with the shame. He hadn't even been able to cast a spell. What sort of shitty hero was he?

He clenched his jaw and spent a long time just slowly climbing to his feet, taking long pauses to breathe through the worst of the agony. His cupboard was thankfully unlocked and he stumbled through the wrecked living room, eyes searching the rubble. A trained seeker, it didn't take Harry long to find his wand. It was in one piece. He slipped it into his pocket and slowly hobbled to the bathroom.

The shower water burned his wounds, but it cleaned off the blood that caked his body and hair. Tiny shards of glass rained out of his hair and from cuts, but some pieces were in too deep for the water to flush them out.

Bracing himself, Harry tried to pick the glass out of his back, but he couldn't reach. Each time he tried to maneuver his arm around to grab a piece, sparks of pain flared through his whole body. When he finally grasped one in his lower back, his vision swam dangerously when he tried to pull it out. It hurt less to keep it in for now. He'd worry about it later when he had pain-relieving potions to help with the task.

He threw away his bloody, torn clothes and gingerly pulled on cleaner hand-me-downs. The baggy outfit covered all his bodily injuries except for a few fresh bruises and cuts on his face. He wished the Hogwarts curriculum covered healing spells earlier than seventh year.

He practiced moving in front of the bathroom mirror, making sure he could school his face to hide any suffering it caused.

Harry concentrated on walking naturally to the kitchen where he cooked breakfast as usual. Every movement sent waves of pain shooting through his body. The heat from the stove made him feel sick to his stomach and his face began to feel sweaty. He stuck his head in the freezer, taking great gulps of the icy air. He didn't bother sneaking food for himself, already on the verge of throwing up.

It was almost over, though. Very soon, he'd be leaving. He clutched onto that thought desperately.

The Dursleys eventually came down. The only sign that anything unusual had happened the night before was that Vernon was clutching his head, badly hungover, and Dudley was more moody than usual. Instead of glaring at his father, though, he kept shooting Harry malicious looks as if it were _his_ fault. Harry didn't care. He just wanted out of there.

Harry sat stiffly in the passenger's seat of Vernon's car. They drove to the Stensons in silence.

Once they were parked, however, Vernon decided to speak. "Last night could have been much, much worse. Remember that before you even _think_ about saying anything."

Harry nodded stiffly and got out of the car. That was no problem; he never wanted _anyone_ to know how badly he'd failed the night before.

When Kota answered the door, Harry ducked his head and squeezed past her. She was still glowing, chattering on about how thankful she was that her father was going to live. Harry suspected they'd been up the whole night with each other, blissfully talking about their new future as a family. It made him angry with them, which he knew wasn't fair. It wasn't their fault, of course. But he couldn't help it. He had always imagined his sacrifice would be rewarded with that scene including him, but while they had been celebrating he had been left to deal with his too-real nightmares on his own.

As Kota jabbered on happily, following him up the stairs, Harry found himself wanting to scream at her to just shut up.

Kota finally seemed to pick up on his mood while Harry ushered Hedwig into her cage. The owl, of course, immediately realized something was wrong and tried to fly over to his shoulder, but at the panicked look on his face, she changed course and obediently flew to her perch. She hooted softly as if to ask what was wrong.

Kota, though, was the one that could verbalize it. "Is something the matter?"

Harry shook his head wordlessly, shutting his eyes against the pain of lifting his trunk from the floor to the bed, thanking Merlin that he only had a fraction of his belongings weighing it down. Still, he couldn't wait until he had the aid of a train station trolley.

"Harry?" Kota asked worriedly, walking around and pulling his face toward her. Her lips pursed angrily. "What happened? Your face is all bruised! What else did he do? And why? He didn't catch you sneaking out, did he?"

"It doesn't matter," Harry muttered, trying to lift his trunk again. Kota hurried to help him this time.

"Doesn't matter? Harry, we need to take pictures! We can start collecting evidence!" she exclaimed.

"Kota," Harry snapped, "I really don't want to talk about it, okay?"

"But..."

"I'm going back to school now. Don't say anything to your parents before we leave," Harry demanded sternly. "I just want to get to the train station without him getting mad."

Kota frowned and almost looked like she might cry, but nodded in agreement.

The two carried the trunk downstairs. Harry knew the difficulty of the task showed on his face and was equally aware that Kota was staring at him in pity. So Harry avoided her gaze, pretending he didn't notice.

Harry's heart sank when they found Uncle Vernon on the front walk in a heated argument with Mr. and Mrs. Stenson. Harry and Kota slipped by and loaded his trunk into the back of Vernon's company car. At Harry's urging, Kota went back to her parents. She tried to hug him first, but Harry stepped back and she seemed to understand why.

Harry watched from a distance as Kota tugged on her father's arm and whispered something to him. Mr. Stenson nodded and gestured toward Harry and the car.

"I suppose you need to get Harry to the train station. His friends are, no doubt, waiting." He said it with a tone of warning, a reminder that Harry's friends weren't people to be trifled with.

Vernon sneered and stalked back to the car. Harry hurried into the passenger's seat so his uncle wouldn't just speed off with all Harry's most essential possessions.

Vernon leaned over his nephew to call out through the window. "Don't mess with me again, Stenson. I'm the one in control of the situation!"

He grabbed Harry's shoulder and dug his fingers in right near a piece of glass still embedded in his skin. Harry's carefully constructed exterior shattered and he let out a cry of pain, wrenching himself away from the firm grip.

Mr. and Mrs. Stenson both yelled furiously and started toward the car, but Uncle Vernon sped off.

"See, boy? I _always_ win," he said, far too gleeful for Harry's comfort. Harry just glared out the window, gingerly touching his aching shoulder. Not liking the lack of response, Uncle Vernon's hand shot out and caught Harry's chin, yanking it around to face him.

"You're pathetic, boy. Can't even defend yourself. All this talk about your magic school...where was it? Where was that scary magic? I was waiting to see it!" Vernon laughed cruelly. Harry said nothing and Vernon threw his chin away in disgust. "Your parents would be disappointed to see what a weak coward their son turned out to be." He paused, seemingly proud of himself for being the clear victor. He eyed Harry suspiciously. "And remember what I said about making things worse for yourself by whining to people. You have no right to; you deserved it for your disobedience and for trying to attack me."

"I won't," Harry muttered, turning to stare out the window.

Finally, after one last warning from his uncle not to air the family's dirty laundry, Harry walking into King's Cross Station. It was later than he would have liked and he got to the train as the whistle blew and only a few stragglers were left to jump on. He heaved his trunk onboard with some struggle and made his way down the train until he found Hermione out in the hall talking into one of the compartments.

"What if he misses the train, Ron!" she demanded. "Aren't you even worried?"

"Harry can take care of himself, 'Mione," Ron's voice returned and Harry could almost hear Ron rolling his eyes.

Hermione caught sight of him and gasped. "Harry, what happened?" she demanded rushing toward him and examining his face.

"It's nothing. I got into a fight with Dudley."

Ron's head popped out to see what Hermione was talking about, but he kept back.

Hermione's brows furrowed. "When did you see Dudley? I thought you were staying with the Stensons."

"Ran into him at the park."

She frowned in concern rather than the disapproval Harry had expected.

"I got him back pretty good. Don't worry," he invented, wanting his friends at least to believe he was capable of handling something like this.

She shook her head and carefully took Hedwig's cage from his load. "I don't like that he picks on you."

Harry felt mortified and looked around to see who could have overheard. It was bad enough that Ron had heard, which he must have despite the poor performance he was putting on pretending he hadn't.

"He doesn't _pick_ on me," Harry hissed at Hermione in annoyance. "I'm not a baby. I can take care of myself."

She just sighed. "I know you can, I just wish you didn't have to."

When they got to the compartment, Ron helped lift Harry's trunk onto the overhead shelf while Hermione fed Hedwig a few treats.

They launched into telling stories about their breaks. Harry gently changed his to exclude the Dursleys or Mr. Stenson's cancer, so there was admittedly some invention to his account. They got a kick out of Harry's description of the Stensons' reactions to the whole wizard thing.

Harry pushed the conversation to his friends, feeling tired and lacking the energy to invent a fictional final week to his holiday. He leaned back and listened to Ron launch into a disgruntled tale of Fred and George's holiday antics. The gentle rocking of the train and the sound of his friends' laughter gave him the peace he'd been aching for.

-

Later, Hermione pulled out some Muggle pictures to show Ron it was true that they didn't move at all. Ron kept staring, waiting for one to twitch or sneeze.

"How do they stay still so long though?" he asked in confusion.

Hermione hid a smile.

"Harry will you explain...Oh Ron, look, Harry fell asleep."

Harry was indeed curled up on the opposite bench with his cloak pulled over him.

"Probably a good thing," Ron commented quietly. "Looks like he hasn't gotten a good night's sleep in ages. I don't get it. He usually only looks like this after staying with the Dursleys."

"Well, it was his first nice Christmas outside of Hogwarts and he was a guest at someone's house. Maybe they were all staying up late or he could have been too anxious to sleep. And then he got into that fight with his cousin...I think he got more hurt than he wants to admit. Did you notice how stiff he was holding himself?"

Ron frowned angrily. "I swear, one day I'm going to hex his cousin so hard. That whole family, in fact!"

They both looked over as Harry whimpered softly in his sleep.

Hermione eyebrows sprang up in her _Eureka!_ face. "What if he's been having nightmares? That could be why he's so tired!"

"Hey, Harry," Ron called. He grabbed Hermione's wrist when she started to get up. "Hermione, come on. He doesn't want you hovering over him. Hey mate! Wake up!"

Harry stirred but didn't wake. His face scrunched into a grimace and he let out another small whine.

Ron reluctantly allowed Hermione to go over to their friend. She called his name softly. She noticed a sheen of sweat covered his face and she curiously put a hand to his forehead. "Ron, he's burning up!"

"He has a fever?" Ron asked in concern, getting to his feet.

Hermione shook Harry's shoulder and to their surprise, Harry shot awake with a sharp intake of breath. He started shivering. He winced as he looked up at them.

"What?" he croaked, closing his eyes again. "Are we there?"

"Harry, you're sick," Hermione informed him anxiously.

"No I'm not. I just don't feel well," he muttered sleepily.

"They're the same thing," Ron pointed out.

"No. I'm not contagious. It's nothing." His breathing slowed again. His next words were barely audible. "Can I go back to sleep or are we almost there?"

Hermione was rifling through her suitcase and then darting out of the room so Ron checked his watch. "Yeah, mate, you've got a few hours.

But Hermione marched back in and sat next to Harry and started laying wet pieces of her clothing on his neck and forehead. Harry jerked away and looked up at her in annoyance.

"'Mione, what are you doing?" he asked, pulling a wet t-shirt off his skin.

"I'm cooling you down," she said matter-of-factly. She pulled the wet shirt from his hand and plopped it back onto his forehead.

"You're overreacting," Harry protested.

"Then just let me overreact," she said simply. "You can make fun of me later."

She pulled the cloak off him and Harry curled up even more, shivering.

"Hermione, you're freezing him," Ron observed. He didn't really know how to deal with something like this since his mum had always just fed them fever reducer potions and they'd be almost instantly good as new.

Hermione frowned uncertainly. "Harry are you cold?"

"Yes. No. Both," Harry muttered miserably, his eyes shut once again.

Hermione put the cloak back on him, but kept the wet rags on his face, the water dripping down his skin.

"I feel stupid," Harry murmured.

"You look stupid," Ron teased.

Harry weakly flipped him off but Hermione snatched his hand and tucked it back under the cloak.

Hermione ran her thumb rhythmically across his temple and the gentle gesture quickly lulled Harry back to sleep.

Ron eventually coaxed Hermione into leaving Harry be for a while and they talked quietly amongst themselves, checking on Harry every once in awhile.

When they were almost there, they woke Harry again to change into his school robes. Hermione insisted he bundle up for the walk from the train to the carriages, and Ron took her side in the ensuing argument.

Once inside the castle, Ron offered to take him up to Madam Pomfrey but Harry planted his feet and refused.

"You're overreacting," he insisted again. "I'm fine and I'm hungry. I don't need to go to the hospital wing."

Ron was easily swayed by the food argument and even Hermione admitted that he was probably all right if he had an appetite.

Yet, they quickly realized he had lied when Harry kept his food at a distance, not even wanting to smell it or watch others eat. He just rested his head in his hands and waited.

"See, Harry, you're ill! You haven't eaten anything all day. Stand up, we're going to the hospital wing now. Ron, you can stay and finish your meal," she said, getting to her feet.

"I'm not going there," Harry said stubbornly. "I just want to go to sleep."

"You _are_ going, right Ron?"

"Sorry mate," Ron apologized. "Just get some potions and we'll get off your back."

"Who's on Harry's back?" Seamus leaned in jovially. He eyed Hermione in suspicion. "Come on, it's first day back. Leave the guy alone!"

He clapped Harry on the back hard and Harry saw stars. It was lucky that his face was already in his hands so no one saw him bite his lip to keep from screaming.

The pain gave way to a strong wave of nausea and Harry stumbled away from the table without a word. He ran out into the empty hallway and dizzily found a trashcan. He threw up and the splattering sound caused his stomach to heave even more violently. The smell invaded his nostrils and he just ducked his face deep into the bin and clutched the sides weakly. He felt a hand rubbing his back as his stomach turned inside out. The gesture certainly didn't feel good, but the layers of clothing kept it from hurting too badly.

Finally he weakly emerged and Ron thrust a handful of napkins at him to wipe his face.

"Hospital wing, now."

Surprisingly, it was Ron who demanded it. He pulled Harry's arm over his shoulder and began guiding him along. Harry protested, privately terrified Pomfrey would find his injuries, but Ron was deaf to it, just talking to Hermione about what could be wrong as if he wasn't even there.

"Madam Pomfrey!" Ron hollered as they burst through the doors. The hospital wing was, of course, empty. Ron helped Harry to the nearest bed while Hermione called out searchingly for the nurse.

"What's all the screaming about?" Madam Pomfrey demanded, hurrying from her office. She spotted Harry and threw her hands up. "What did I tell you about staying out of trouble!"

"I didn't get into trouble. I've just got a flu. My friend had it." He prayed by offering his own diagnosis that this wouldn't end in examination. That would be serious trouble.

It worked. Madam Pomfrey grabbed a fever reducer and some other bottles and began shoving the foul tasting liquids down his throat.

Harry was already feeling a little better by the time Madam Pomfrey released him with the orders to get a good night's rest to finish the job.

"Now was that so horrible?" Hermione asked, much more at ease now.

"Yes," Harry muttered, just to be contrary.

"You gotta learn to let people take care of you once in awhile," Ron said. "When you're feeling sick you gotta ask for help."

Harry hoped that was true because soon he would be much sicker than Ron could ever predict.


	9. Chapter 9: Detention Discoveries

Without the fever to distract him, Harry awoke the next morning in pain. He had hoped things would have gone numb by now, but everything felt just as bad as it had the morning before. The feeling of the glass in his back overwhelmed everything else, but if he had been forced to assess his injuries, he'd also note the sting in the cuts on his arms and thighs that he'd been able to clean of glass and a deeply bruised ache in his chest. Not to mention the flare in his cheek every time he winced.

Before the rest of his roommates were up, Harry took off his shirt and looked over his shoulder into the bathroom mirror. It looked as bad as it felt. The cuts were angry and red and the sight made him feel a little sick. When the light caught the glass shards still embedded in his skin, they gleamed a shiny red to remind him of their presence.

He awkwardly pointed his wand over his shoulder and, choosing a random shard, nervously said, "Accio." The piece of glass shot upward, leaving an even larger gash in its wake. Harry clenched his jaw to stifle a scream. He dropped his wand as he grabbed onto the sink for support when his legs went wobbly.

That was definitely not the way to do it.

He grabbed a giant wad of toilet paper to mop up the new stream of blood as best he could before reluctantly climbing into the shower to rinse off the rest.

He would just have to figure out something else.

-

Classes seemed an eternity longer than usual. The hard backs of the chairs were unforgiving and Harry couldn't seem to find a position that left him comfortable enough to concentrate. After a big breakfast, though, Hermione and Ron believed there was nothing to worry about in regards to his health. If they did notice anything off, Hermione would think he was simply getting over his supposed flu and Ron would attribute it to what he dubbed "the first-day back squirms," which was the learning curve Ron gave himself for remembering how to sit still for so long under conditions of mind-numbing boredom. Ron looked even more uncomfortable than Harry in those chairs.

By the time they reached their last class of the day, Potions, Harry was getting desperate for a solution, or at least something to take away the pain for a while.

As they sat and brewed their potions, it occurred to Harry what he would have to do, but he _really_ didn't want to have to do it.

He couldn't go to Madam Pomfrey because she had the authority to insist on an exam. But, as reiterated in every year's first week common room lecture from Professor McGonagall, Heads of House did not have that authority. In fact, if a student demanded their discretion, a Head of House had to grant it.

Hermione had once explained that the confidentiality rule was in place so students could feel safe confiding sensitive problems to an authority figure without fear of consequence. The only way a professor could break the code of silence was if they believed a student was a danger to others or a danger to themselves or if the student was in immediate, life-threatening peril. Harry had thought the rule seemed rather dodgy, but Hermione had insisted it was better that students could get responsible advice without being held back by fear. It worked for students who had done something stupid and didn't know what to do about it, it worked for those having trouble with other professors, it worked for those being hurt by someone else.

And, just in case the problem was _with_ Professor McGonagall, or if they wanted to talk to a male instead, every Head of House was bound by the same rule for any student.

He _really_ didn't want to talk to Professor Snape, but he _really_ needed a potion and he was too desperate to wait for the opportunity to steal one, especially since he didn't even know what to steal.

Through the rest of class, he tried to think of another idea, _any_ other idea, but he just couldn't. His back flared and burned at every small movement and he just needed relief from it, even for a little while so he could clear his head and think rationally about it again.

Class ended and Harry headed to the door with his friends, glancing unsurely back at the potions cabinet. Dean bumped into him and Harry's hands clenched into white-knuckled fists as he struggled to breathe through it.

That was it. He couldn't take this anymore.

He muttered a lame excuse to his friends about needing to talk to Snape about his winter break homework before it was graded it and turned back. Once everyone had gone, he approached Snape's desk.

The Potion's master eyed him suspiciously, too vigilant to be surprised in his approach though clearly skeptical about the reason.

"Let me guess," his professor said in a cold, mocking tone, "your relatives wouldn't _let_ you do your homework again? Too busy playing with your Christmas gifts?"

Harry ignored that and reluctantly met Snape's glare. "Professor McGonagall said that if we come to any Head of House with a problem, they can't say anything to anyone if we ask them not to. I need to, uh, do that. With you."

Snape's sadistic sneer flickered into an unbelieving stare. "What?"  
Harry licked his lips. "I have a problem and I need to ask you for help under the whole student-House Head confidentiality thing, sir."

Snape looked like he was horrified and was trying to hide it but not very well. Of course the man had been a spy for Voldemort, so Harry suspected Snape wanted Harry to know just how much the idea of a heart-to-heart repulsed him. "That, Potter, is what your own Head of House is for. If you need to speak to a male professor, Flitwick is a far superior confidant. I assure you I care nothing for teenage angst and will prove most unsympathetic to your schoolyard drama."

"It's not school-related and it's not a conversation, even. I'm not looking for advice," Harry assured him, equally disturbed at the idea of sitting down for a cuppa with Snape.

"Ask someone else," Snape dismissed bluntly.

Harry was feeling lightheaded and irritated. "I can't," he said firmly. "I need to ask you so I'm just putting it on the record that it falls under the confidentiality clause. I just need a potion."

"Ask Madam Pomfrey," Snape pressed with a glare.

"I can't," Harry repeated. He didn't give an explanation and knew Snape wouldn't ask for one. That was the single benefit of having this conversation with Snape: the man cared so little for him that he'd probably just give him what he wanted to get him out without asking questions. The others would probably demand answers before handing out potions.

Snape just glared at him hatefully so Harry continued. "Um, I don't know what kind of potion exactly, but some kind of pain potion? For cuts if that makes a difference."

Snape suddenly looked wary. "Self-inflicted cuts?"

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "No! No. Just a stupid accident."

"What a surprise," Snape drawled. "And why can't you go to Madam Pomfrey for this?"

Harry just shrugged. They both knew he didn't have to say.

Snape scowled and crossed his arms to show his disdain. "Have you cleaned the scrape?"

Harry hesitated and then nodded. "But, um, something's still in there and I need to get it out."

Now Snape almost, _almost_ looked intrigued. He leaned forward, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "As in dirt? Debris? Are you aware of what _cleaning_ means?"

"Yes," Harry said defensively. "But it's...um...debris I guess and I'm just having a hard time getting it out because it hurts."

"You need to go to Madam Pomfrey," Snape said seriously. "You aren't competent enough to properly care for an injury."

"I'm not going to Madam Pomfrey," Harry repeated firmly.

Snape snorted in derision. "Of course not. I forgot nothing makes the fan-club flock more than a wounded hero suffering through an injury in the common room."

To Harry's relief, Snape stalked over to the potions cupboard and disappeared inside. He came back out with two vials and it seemed to infuriate him to have to go through the instructions.

"Since you apparently are too sensitive to clean your wound as is, this is a pain-reducer. Take it first, clean your wound, then take the next to close the wounds. Clean them well before closing or they will get infected."

"I drink the whole vial at once then?" Harry asked, relieved to see medicine in his grasp at last.

"No, I poured them into pre-measured vials for my own amusement." Snape's voice positively dripped sarcasm.

"How long does this one last?" Harry asked, holding up the pain-reducer.

"One hour. If you fail to tend to your wound in that time, go whine to Pomfrey."

Harry nodded and gingerly slipped the two vials into his pockets. He desperately wanted to take the first one right then, but he needed to make sure he'd have some privacy to deal with the glass first.

"Next time, go to someone else with your pathetic martyr issues," Snape spat, swooping back to his desk and pulling the stack of their winter essays to him. The discussion was very blatantly closed, just the way Harry wanted.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said sincerely.

Snape ignored him and Harry stiffly made his way from the room.

-

In the end, he decided to try Myrtle's bathroom for privacy. The ghost was thankfully not present and he hoped she wouldn't pop up unexpectedly. At least Myrtle had nobody to gossip to even if she was suddenly provided with something juicy. Hermione had counted on that fact when they made Polyjuice.

He gulped the bland potion and a minute later a wonderful feeling of numbness spread throughout his body. It was so relaxing after a rotten day of trying not to flinch at every movement that he considered curling up in bed as soon as he finished this.

The gash on his back from his first attempt of summoning the glass was bad and felt impossibly deep. It didn't seem like a good way to go. He didn't want to seriously injure himself and not be able to fix it with Snape's potion for small cuts. It would be very difficult to explain to Madam Pomfrey how he'd managed to slice up the muscles in his back.

He reached his arms around awkwardly, frowning when he realized he could still barely reach any of the pieces. Some he could brush with his fingertips but he couldn't actually get a grip on them. He found a shard in his lower back that he was able to grab and tried to yank it out.

A sharp spike of fire radiated through his body and his fingers slipped away. He gasped for breath. Apparently the pain-reducer had limitations and he had, unfortunately, found them. Clenching his jaw, he reached back for the stubborn shard and tried tugging again. He let out a small, involuntary moan at the pain. He told himself it would over soon.

The shard was bigger than he'd thought and he couldn't tell if it was coming out at all. He grasped at it again and his fingers immediately slipped off. Warily, he looked at his fingers. They were covered in blood.

"Shit," he muttered, turning his back to the mirror and looking over his shoulder. The wound he was messing was seeping red. He grabbed a bunch of paper towels and tucked them in the top of his trousers so the blood wouldn't soak his clothes.

"Come on," he pleaded, trying again to grip it with a paper towel, but he could no longer find purchase on the slippery fragment of glass.

He moved to another and another without success. Most he couldn't even reach.

Now his back was bleeding badly and despite his cleaning spells, which were rough and irritating, the blood wasn't slowing.

Upset and feeling desperate, knowing it was probably a bad idea, he shakily swallowed the other potion just to stop the bleeding. The blood stopped, but as the wounds tried to heal and his skin closed around the shards, the glass was more stuck than before.

He numbly put back on his shirt feeling worse than ever: he only had a half hour before the pain came back full force.

What was he going to do?

-

Ignoring the problem obviously wasn't the solution, but in the next few days it was the only thing Harry could think to do. Eventually, the pain did ebb away...not fully, but enough that he could live with it and not have it define every waking moment.

But it didn't look good at all and that was making him nervous. They went from angry red to, on close inspection, actually taking on a greenish hue. They started to glisten with something slimy Harry wasn't certain he wanted to know about. He had scars from where cuts and scrapes had gotten infected during his childhood but it had all seemed to work out in the end so he just hoped it would somehow go away or that the answer would hit him. He kept vowing to deal with it during his free time, but the first week back was hectic and Hermione was pushing her O.W.L. study schedule even harder.

He occasionally tried pulling one out, but they wouldn't budge and they seemed connected to every nerve in his body. He knew he had dug himself into a hole, but he had no idea how to get out.

One morning, he woke with a fever and the pain was back.

It wasn't going away on its own. The wounds were swollen and disgusting looking. The first time the wounds had made him sick, he figured it was just the shock of such a trauma. This time, it seemed much more sinister.

He fidgeted all the way through Potions class, sneaking uncertain glances at Snape, who lectured a trembling Neville about his incompetence. Damn; he didn't want to go back to him, but Snape was probably the only professor who cared so little about him that he wouldn't make a big deal out of it and ask follow-up questions. If he did, it would come from a place of mocking, and Harry at least understood how to deal with that.

So, making his excuses, Harry stayed after class. Snape seemed in disbelief of his own bad luck.

"What now?" he asked in a dangerous tone. "I am not your potions dealer, Potter."

Harry sat in one of the chairs closest to Snape's desk. "Well, the thing is, the other one didn't really work."

"Nonsense," Snape dismissed. "If you're taking pain potions recreationally..."

"I'm not!" Harry interrupted. He didn't want to get turned away; if he was, he had no idea what he would do. "If I was doing that, I'd say it was my scar or something, I wouldn't ask for a cut-healing one just for the hell of it."

"The instructions were idiot-proof, Potter. Just drink them. How do you propose you managed to screw that up?" Snape demanded.

Harry avoided his gaze, looking down at the table he was leaning on. "Well, you know how I said there was debris in there? I, um, well, I couldn't get it out and now I think it's infected."

Snape stared at him as if he couldn't believe someone so moronic could possibly exist. "What part about _clean your wound_ were you unable to comprehend?"

"I tried, okay?" Harry said in annoyance. "I just couldn't! I cleaned it with soap and water but I couldn't really reach and something is still in there. Look, I just need something that will, maybe, push it out or something. Or, at least maybe loosen it all up? I took the second potion and it made my skin really stick to it."

"You couldn't get a foreign object out of your skin and you took a potion to close up the wound?" Snape asked incredulously. "Were you repeatedly dropped on your head as a child?"

Harry's face grew hot with anger. "I had to stop the bleeding and..." He shook his head. "I'm really not feeling well and I just need something to help me get this stuff out and maybe to help with the infection and some sort of stronger pain-reliever to help me do it all. Can I just have that and go? Sir?"

Snape looked at him appraisingly. "What is it that you can't get out? A pebble? A splinter of wood?"

Harry swallowed. "Um..." Not knowing what to agree to, he shrugged a shoulder to announce he wasn't going to answer.

Snape pulled an essay toward him and dipped his quill into his inkpot. "See Madam Pomfrey."

Harry's head whipped up. "I can't. You have to help me. It's in the school rules."

Snape raised a challenging eyebrow. "File a complaint with Dumbledore. Of course, he'll be much more interested than I in the details of this injury."

Harry's heart sunk. Snape had him there. He would never tell Dumbledore or anyone who'd tell him. He didn't want people interfering. He didn't want people to realize how weak he was. They couldn't lose faith in him when he was their only hope. Snape was the only one who never had any hope in him to begin with and was therefore the only person who he felt comfortable approaching. _Now_ what was he going to do?

Wordlessly and without any further eye contact, Harry rose and left the classroom.

-

The next day, Harry still had a fever. He tried, once more, to get the glass out of his back. He stupidly cast the summoning charm on another piece, hoping it would work better, but it twisted and wrenched and remained stuck. He could barely move his right shoulder afterward and he barely managed to take notes the next day.

Everyone was stressed out, so his tired, weary mood fit right in and no one questioned it.

All day, Harry tried to come up with a way to deal with his injuries. He couldn't go to anyone else; he refused to explain what happened to Madam Pomfrey or McGonagall. Not only would he rather die than see the pity in their eyes, he was also sure they'd find a way to interfere and the last thing he wanted was for everyone to find out or for them to piss off the Dursleys before dropping him off there like they did the previous summer.

He could summon out the glass, then set up some situation where he could pretend the cuts were new, but the infection was obvious and it would be completely apparent what he had done, which would make him look crazy. And that was the only idea he'd come up with.

Throughout Potions, he kept coming back to the bad idea, trying to imagine wild scenarios where it could work, but he was unable to come up with one that actually would.

His potion flopped predictably, but at least it didn't fail in a flamboyant way. He sluggishly packed up his belongings, still lost in his thoughts when he heard his name.

"Potter, stay," Snape snapped in his _you have detention because I hate you_ voice.

Harry didn't know what to make of it. Did he really have detention or had Snape changed his mind?

Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder in sympathy. Harry ducked his head and slammed his eyes shut against the pain. Ron didn't seem to notice, seeming to think Harry was being humorously dramatic at Snape's summons.

To avoid having his friends figure out something was wrong, he immediately turned and headed over to Snape's desk. The professor paid him no attention, busy marking something while the rest of the class filed out. Harry eased himself into one of the seats to wait.

The second the door clicked shut behind the last student, Snape looked up angrily.

"You haven't been to the Hospital Wing."

Harry held his gaze, though he didn't feel as sure of himself as he was trying to appear. "I told you I wouldn't."

"Are you mentally incompetent? You obviously have a high fever," he growled.

Harry licked his lips and looked down at the smooth surface of the desk. "I don't...I don't know what to do if you don't help me," Harry admitted in a very small voice.

There was a long silence. Harry sneaked an apprehensive glance up at his professor. Snape's expression was unreadable. It seemed to Harry that the greasy git had gone into spy-mode, which probably meant there was a lot going on behind that cool fa溝de. It wasn't surprising. Harry felt pathetic having to beg for help like this and he knew Snape was probably torn between disgust and sadistic glee to finally have something to hold over Harry's head.

"There is no potion that would push something foreign from a wound. It must be removed manually. Potions would help with that process and in the aftermath. Unfortunately, since you're an imbecile, the wound is now closed over it and I don't see how you'd be able to remove it on your own."

"Well, it didn't close over it," Harry corrected. "It closed around it. But I can't reach and I can't pull it out."

Snape leaned forward in his chair, eyebrows furrowed. "There's something actually protruding from the skin?"

Harry hesitated. "Yeah."

Snape stared at him. "Well, what is it?"

"I don't want to say."

Snape scowled. "How do you plan to remove it when you haven't yet managed?"

Harry let out a shaky breath and ran a hand over his face. "I don't know."

"Potter, you must get this healed. This is not a joke," Snape snapped. "If you have a fever, the infection is already bad. Though I am confident your stupidity knows no bounds, Madam Pomfrey has seen it all. You need medical attention. If you refuse to seek it, I will report you on grounds that you are a danger to yourself."

Harry looked up in alarm. "You can't do that unless you think I'm suicidal!"

"A severe infection is deadly."

"I looked up the clause. You can't report me unless my life is in immediate danger," Harry protested. "You're under magical influence. The spell won't let you."

Snape's eyes stormed. "These things move quickly, you imbecile! By the time it becomes life-threatening, there may not be anything they could do for you."

"I'm not going to the hospital wing. Just give me the potions. I'll figure it out on my own," Harry said irritably. "I could use a stronger pain-blocker and something to control the bleeding."

"You said you can't reach it," Snape reminded him, sounding incredulous of Harry's idiocy.

"I'll figure it out!" Harry replied defensively.

"Then why haven't you yet?" Snape demanded condescendingly.

Harry didn't have an answer for that. He crossed his arms despite the pain the movement caused and looked away.

"Someone needs to fix this wound. There has to be someone else..."

"I'm not telling anyone else."

Snape grumbled something under his breath that Harry was pretty certain he didn't want to hear. Then, he spoke up. "Fine. Then I will be forced to heal it myself. Let's see it."

Harry's head whipped up. "What? No!"

Snape glared. "You cannot heal it yourself, you are too bent on making my life hell to ask someone else to heal it, I am unable to request someone else help you...if you have another option, please, do speak up."

The problem was, Harry didn't have another option. Shit.

"Is there a way to heal it without seeing it?" Harry asked hopefully.

Snape looked as if he was considering quitting his job. "I assume," he said with great difficulty, "it's in an embarrassing place. If that is why you won't ask the school's medi-witch, I assure you, you have nothing she hasn't seen before."

Harry blanched, thanking the gods that the pockets of his jeans had kept anything from managing to get into a more humiliating area. If someone had to pull glass from his arse, he would probably have faked his own death rather than let that happen. "Er, no, not an embarrassing place."

Snape seemed at least a little relieved at that news, but still, his wariness was clearly communicated. "Where is the injury?"

"Um, my back," he revealed cautiously.

"Fine," Snape said sharply. "Go into my office and sit down. I will be a moment."

Not quite believing this was happening, Harry followed direction, reminding himself that he had no other option.

The office was small and seemed to mostly be used for storage. As he'd witnessed when he'd last snuck in here, Snape did his work at the more comfortable desk in the bigger classroom, though there was a smaller one in here.

He set his book bag on the floor near the foot of the couch, safely out of the walking path. He sat gingerly and panicked about how Snape would react.

The man stalked back in looking severely annoyed.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Remove your shirt," he barked, measuring out a potion into a small cup.

Harry licked his lips nervously. "I should probably warn you that it's actually more than one...um...thing."

Snape didn't say anything, only stared at him suspiciously, so Harry turned his back to him and, with a deep breath for courage, unbuttoned his shirt. Shrugging it off caused pain to flare and he embraced the distraction from his dread of Snape's reaction.

Harry didn't look when he felt Snape suddenly striding toward him. He tensed in anticipation, then winced at the resulting protest from his wounds. Snape's cold, long-fingered hand grabbed his shoulder and Harry could feel the man's eyes taking in the horrible battlefield of his back.

"What is this?" Snape demanded loudly. "Potter, what the hell happened?"

"I fell," Harry said lamely. "Into a glass table."

"Why on earth would you be so stupid to keep injuries like this to yourself?" Snape asked. He sounded pretty angry.

Harry didn't respond to that.

"I asked you a question!" Snape shouted, stepping around to glare at Harry face-to-face. "Are you really that pride-filled? Are you really so arrogant that you would let this fester rather than admit you were clumsy?"

Harry crinkled his nose. He really wished the word _fester_ hadn't been used. It made his stomach a little queasy. He hung his head and just shrugged.

"For the love of..." Snape trailed off but it seemed off. Harry looked up to find Snape staring at the front of his torso, which he was trying to block by holding up his shirt. Harry mentally cursed.

Snape's hand darted forward and snatched the shirt away.

"Hey!" Harry yelled angrily, crossing his arms over his chest, though he knew it wasn't enough.

"Where did you get those bruises?" Snape demanded in a deathly-quiet voice.

Harry knew his chest and stomach were littered with the remnants of Vernon's beating. The bruises, which had started off black and blue were now in the later stages of healing and had turned yellow, green and light purple, but they were all still very obvious.

"It doesn't matter. I just need help with my back."

But Snape leaned forward and swatted Harry's hands away. "This happened over winter break? I presume the injury to your cheek happened at the same time."

That, at least, had healed nicely.

"Yeah," Harry admitted in annoyance. He yelped in pain when Snape poked a particularly tender spot.

"Your ribs have fractures," Snape announced.

Harry was surprised at that. "They don't feel fractured."

"Take a deep breath."

Snape waited and Harry did so, wincing.

"Feel that?"

"I just mostly feel my back."

"How did you fall into the table?"

Harry felt unfairly bombarded. He wasn't ready for this. Snape wasn't supposed to ask questions!

"I just...fell."

"Then why didn't you want to go to the Hospital Wing?" Snape challenged, temper rising rapidly.

"I don't have to tell you!" Harry snapped petulantly.

"Well, I don't have to heal you!" Snape snapped loudly.

Harry felt his frustration welling. He grabbed his shirt from the couch arm where Snape had thrown it aside and started putting it back on. "Fine. I don't care. I'll just summon it out and figure out how to heal it up myself!"

"Don't be an imbecile!" Snape growled. "Take your shirt back off and I will tolerate no more tantrums."

Harry complied only because the rational part of him was screaming that this was his only option.

Snape stood back, apparently lost in thought. He scowled at the small room, but at least he wasn't scowling at Harry. Harry followed suit and glared at his knees.

"You live with Lily's sister, correct? You live with your aunt and uncle and...a cousin?" Snape asked suddenly, his voice calm once again.

Harry looked up at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because if they didn't cause this than you would have told them," Snape said darkly.

"You're jumping to conclusions," Harry accused. "I _fell_ into the table and I got into a fight with some neighborhood boys."

"There's no use in lying. I'm not permitted to pass this conversation on if you'll recall."

"I'm not lying," Harry protested.

"You're certainly not lying _convincingly_."

Harry opened his mouth to protest but Snape abruptly moved to examine Harry's back.

"Potter. These injuries...they're severe," Snape said evenly. Harry wondered if he had deliberately chosen to speak while Harry couldn't look at him.

"Well, it's probably never good news falling through glass," Harry muttered.

" _All_ of them. Including where someone apparently _stomped_ on your chest."

Harry didn't say anything and Snape let out a frustrated huff of breath.

"You need to tell the headmaster."

"There's nothing to tell," Harry said firmly.

"That's enough!" Snape barked. "Clearly something horrifying occurred between you and your uncle. It could happen again. It would be utter stupidity not to inform the headmaster so he can take appropriate action, or do you actually _want_ this to happen again?"

Harry crossed his arms and glared ahead at the wall. He flinched as Snape's fingers ghosted over the wounds. "I've complained about the Dursleys before to him and he keeps sending me back. The last time anyone tried to tell my uncle off was right before last summer and it made things worse. Dumbledore doesn't need to know anything. No one does."

"Except me, apparently."

"You _already_ think I'm pathetic. It's not like your opinion of me could get much worse," Harry said bitterly.

"The headmaster will not think less of you for this," Snape said in an oddly un-hostile tone.

"People expect certain things from me, Dumbledore being very high on that list. You think it's an accident I end up in all these crazy situations? Dumbledore kind of points me in the right direction without admitting it. For whatever reason, he's prepping _me_ for fighting Voldemort. He obviously needs me to be strong and I'm not going to have him lose hope just because my uncle and I got into a fight," Harry said firmly. He huffed in annoyance. "Look, it's no use trying to tell me to go somewhere else at this point, okay? If you're going to help me, please help me. Otherwise I'd rather just go than sit here talking forever because I'm not feeling very good and getting all depressed about my family isn't helping."

Harry couldn't see Snape's face and refused to look around. At first there was nothing but silence, and then he heard the man moving around.

"The blood around the wounds is too clotted," he said suddenly. Harry _did_ turn around then. Snape was frowning, looking almost regretful. "You have two options. I can give you a potion to un-clot your blood near the surface. This will make it easier to remove the glass and cause less damage. The cuts have been left unattended too long to magically help with scarring, but this would reduce it. Or you can take a pain-reliever. The two don't mix. The latter will make the removal process much easier for you to bear, but since you've essentially grown your skin to the glass, the entry-points will be ripped open in even worse ways than originally. The scars will never heal smoothly. It's up to you."

Harry winced. "So if I don't want scars I can't take anything to numb it first?"

"There will be some scarring even then, but it will be much more subtle. And yes, if that's the option you choose, I can give you nothing to ease the pain until after. I can give you something relatively strong after the glass is out and you've taken the antidote."

Harry dragged his hands over his face with a groan. He knew from his previous attempts how much it hurt to tug at those shards. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to actually feel them pulled all the way out one by one. But he'd do anything to reduce scarring. Someone was bound to ask where he'd got it from.

"I'll skip the pain-reducer then," he voiced.

Snape nodded clinically. He grabbed one of the cups off the table and thrust it at him. Harry took a breath, then gulped it down.

The effect took a few moments but soon he could feel warm, thick liquid seeping down his back.

Snape sat next to him with tweezers and an empty beaker and Harry turned his back fully toward the man.

"I am sure you realize this will be greatly unpleasant. I will try to move quickly," Snape offered. Harry was thankful for the words of comfort. An hour ago he would have sworn Snape would move with deliberate slowness if given this chance, but Harry felt himself desperately throwing his trust at his professor. It wasn't necessarily founded but Harry felt sure the man would stick to his word and try to cause him as little pain as possible.

Harry felt a sharp jolt as Snape got a grip on a shard in his shoulder. He bit his lip but couldn't help letting out a desperate whimper when he felt Snape unsuccessfully try to pull it out. Harry clenched his fists and dug them into his forehead as Snape latched on again and wrestled it from his skin.

He could hear the piece of glass clink loudly into the beaker and Snape cleaned the wound with something that felt soothing. Harry's hands dropped back to his sides. He felt a little nauseous but mostly, he felt suddenly very lax. Everything began to feel very heavy and his vision started to slowly pulsate.

"Potter?"

"Uh huh?" Harry murmured.

A long-fingered hand reached around and caught his chin, pulling it sharply to the side. Snape examined his face briefly before pushing him down onto his stomach.

"Lay down before you lose consciousness," he instructed sharply, though it was unnecessary since he was the one swinging Harry's legs up onto the couch. "Control your breathing."

Until he said that, Harry hadn't realized his breathing had sped up. He made a conscious effort to slow it and after he got it under control, he did begin to feel a little better.

"I need to know that you're conscious. You need to talk while I do this," Snape said, sounding about as pleased to hear Harry blabber on as Harry felt about doing it.

"Talk?" Harry repeated doubtfully.

"It will distract you from the pain and let me know you haven't passed out," he said clinically.

"Maybe it's good if I pass out. Then I can't feel it," Harry reasoned hopefully.

"I can't do this when I don't know that you're alright and I can only know that something is not urgently wrong if you stay awake and talk."

Harry groaned. Suddenly a bright flash of pain coursed throughout his body and he let out a pained cry.

"Talk, Potter," Snape instructed more firmly, another shard clinking against the bottom of the beaker.

Harry calmed his gasps and clenched his fists in preparation for the next one.

"What about?"

"You can start with why your uncle wouldn't get you medical attention for something like this."

Another white-hot lick of flame surged up and down his spine and Harry lost the willpower to keep his secrets. He was suddenly angry and upset. The pain of this procedure was bringing tears to his eyes and he hated his uncle for doing this to him.

"He hates me," Harry ground out as Snape pulled another piece out. "He's never brought me to the doctor or anything. He'd be happy if I died, especially if it happened in a way where he couldn't possibly be blamed."

"That seems melodramatic," Snape said doubtfully. "I am sure your relatives care for you."

"Oh, well then they really show it well, don't they?" Harry snapped. Snape ripped out another piece and Harry let out an involuntary half-sob. "God, will you stop just for a minute?"

Snape wordlessly complied and Harry pressed his fists to his forehead.

"I must continue, Potter, before the potion's effects wear off," he finally said. "Continue speaking. How, exactly, did this occur?"

"He was drunk and mad. He'd been looking for an excuse for a while. He caught me when I was sneaking back in at night. And no, I wasn't visiting my _fanclub_ ," Harry said bitterly.

"I didn't say you were," Snape said mildly. He was having trouble pulling out another shard and Harry suddenly hated _him_ too. He hated everyone. He felt like he was going to get sick. It hurt _so_ bad.

"I know you think I deserved this," Harry accused. "You think I'm always breaking the rules and I need to be taught a lesson."

"I agree your penchant for rule breaking deserves punishment, but I would never condone child abuse. What has been done to you is sickening, accident or not," Snape said firmly.

Harry's hatred toward the man slipped into a different emotion with that statement, one Harry wasn't sure how to describe. He trusted the man again and suddenly desperately wanted Snape to face down the Dursleys and hex them into oblivion, or to march right to Dumbledore and demand to know why the old man had ever thought it wise to put Harry with such disturbed people.

"Continue," Snape said simply and Harry could feel the tweezers grab onto another piece. He desperately began to spill in hopes it would somehow act as a buffer to the pain.

"I was visiting someone in the hospital. Our families are in a feud because last summer Mr. Stenson found out about this all and punched my uncle and tried to take me away from them. I really thought I might be able to live with them, but then the Dursleys won out. They always do so I should have known, but it really, really sucked," he rambled, the words spilling out of his mouth at high speed in preparation, but he suddenly realized Snape had stilled.

"Exactly how long has this been going on?" he asked.

Harry felt disoriented and confused. "The table? It happened the last day of break."

"No, Potter." Snape's voice almost sounded gentler in a strange way. He sounded almost _sorry_ as he continued, though Harry took this as evidence that he wasn't in the right state of mind to be making judgments about how Snape sounded. "How long have they been abusing you?"

Harry still wasn't sure how to answer so he just started talking without thinking. His mind was too preoccupied with what was going on with his back. "I don't know. Well, I guess the last summer? That's when my uncle started drinking and beating me up. Before then it was only every once in awhile when he was drunk and mad, but it wasn't so constant or so bad. They only put me back in the cupboard at winter break, but he only beat me up the once...it just got a little out of control. So I don't know. Maybe it's getting better because the amount's getting lower, but then this happened, so I don't know. Um...what was the question? Oh yeah, when. Um, yeah, when I was younger..."

His tangent slammed to a halt while Harry cried out in agony at another piece being removed. He dug his forehead into the cushion and groaned weakly. He stayed like that, welcoming the dark it provided.

"Potter?" Snape questioned urgently.

Harry moaned softly.

"Potter, you must stay conscious. Can you hear me?" Snape demanded.

"Yeah," Harry said distantly. He wanted so badly to slip into oblivion but he forced himself to keep talking. He didn't care what he was saying and didn't much pay attention to it. At least focusing on talking, especially answering questions, distracted him slightly from the pain. "What was the question?"

"When did your uncle begin to abuse you?"

"Summer," he answered groggily. "Didn't I already answer that?"

"You were beginning to talk about when you were younger," Snape prompted.

Harry could feel the tweezers connect with another piece of glass and began blurting things out in a panic, as if he could get so wrapped up in talking that he wouldn't realize what was happening to his body. "Just, you know, smacks and stuff, mostly. He beat me pretty bad once when I was maybe six 'cause I shoved Dudley away from me with a burst of magic and it completely freaked them all out. And once he stabbed me in the arm with a pencil 'cause I drew a picture of a flying motorbike." Snape started tugging and Harry let out a small cry and shut his eyes. He spoke even faster. "My aunt chased me with frying pans and I never got any food 'cept stale bread crusts when they weren't too mad. And they kept me in a cupboard. Dumbledore knew it too. That was my bedroom: the cupboard under the stairs, when Dudley got two rooms. I really hate them. I know that's bad but I-"

His words slammed into an anguished cry as another piece was pulled out. He dug his forehead into the cushion and clenched his jaw. He was beginning to feel nauseous and was afraid to ask how much more of this he'd have to take.

"Potter?" Snape prompted after a moment.

"I'm not feeling too well," Harry admitted reluctantly. He figured this way if he puked all over Snape's furniture, he'd at least have given warning.

"There's only one piece left. From the visible width, it appears to be the largest, though that could be a misconception. Be assured that, at least, this is the last one."

"That's good," Harry breathed. "Just go fast, please."

Snape did go quickly. Harry couldn't even draw a breath as pain shot through his shoulder. Ironically, he was utterly silent through the most painful of them all, unable to scream or even make the slightest whimper. By the time he got his breath back, the world was swaying and Harry was overwhelmed by the feeling of sinking down even though he was already lying flat. He could actually feel himself losing consciousness.

Suddenly, he was rolled over and Snape's earnest face loomed above him. Fingers snapped in front of his eyes and Harry flinched at the unpleasant jolt.

"Drink the antidote and you can rest," Snape said sternly.

Harry tried to lift his head but couldn't move.

Snape maneuvered his arm under Harry's shoulders and lifted his upper body enough that Harry could reflexively drink the vial of potion pressed to his lips. After, he was lowered back down. Harry closed his eyes tightly, thankful for the silence.

He felt as if he was floating on the border between wake and sleep for a few minutes. It eventually dawned on him that he was no longer in pain. He felt stiff as he slowly sat up, surprised when a blanket dropped down to his waist at the movement.

He looked up to see Snape at the smaller desk. The man was scribbling on a piece of parchment, but set down his quill and turned to Harry with an unreadable expression.

"How long was I asleep?" Harry asked in disbelief. He hadn't even realized he had fully gone under.

"Nearly an hour," Snape informed him. "How do you feel?"

"Good," Harry said truthfully. "My back's kinda numb, but it doesn't hurt at all."

"There was too much trauma to the area to perform any more magic on it than I already have. It will have to heal naturally, but the scarring should be minimal. I also healed your ribs but they will be particularly fragile for the next few months," Snape said, fingers steepled near his chin. It seemed odd and Harry realized it was because he rarely saw Snape seated without being occupied with a task. Somehow, to have Snape offering his full attention without trying to intimidate him or act as if he was being interrupted made Harry feel like Snape had invited him into his private life. It was silly, of course, because Harry had forced the situation upon his professor and couldn't picture Snape with a personal life anyway, but Harry rubbed his hand over the blanket Snape had obviously draped over him in his sleep and felt once again that embarrassing wish that Snape would deal with the Dursleys and take him away.

He blushed a little, even knowing Snape couldn't know what he was thinking, and shook the thought away. He must be truly desperate for a father figure if he was feeling fond of Snape just because the man let him kip on his couch.

Feeling more than a little pathetic, Harry stood and folded the blanket. He shouldered his book bag.

Snape stood also and presented him with a vial and a paper bag.

"A sip after every meal for the pain. Let water run over the cuts in the shower and a clean bandage every night," he instructed.

Harry's fingers curiously slipped to his lower back. He could feel the lower edge of a giant bandage stuck to his back.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said sincerely. "I wouldn't have known what to do if you hadn't helped me."

Snape frowned deeper. "I urge you to discuss the problem with someone. I consider it an urgent situation and when you return to your relatives for the holidays, the spell will allow me to tell Dumbledore."

"What?" Harry demanded. "No it won't!"

"If I feel your life is in immediate risk, the spell will allow me the freedom to speak to the headmaster," Snape reminded him, but surprisingly, without condescension. "These situations only get worse, Potter."

"I won't be going home 'til summer," Harry said defiantly.

Snape nodded once. "Then you have you have five months to inform the headmaster before I do."

Harry felt annoyed but not too worried. He would figure out a way around it. All he had to do was stay somewhere else first. If Snape didn't know _when_ he was staying with the Dursleys, he couldn't be convinced of the immediacy of danger.

And, of course, there was the possibility Harry wouldn't be around that long anyway.

But he had bigger fish to fry in the meantime, like figuring out how to finish off Voldemort before O.W.L.s.

"I'll think about it," he lied.

"I don't want this to be _my_ problem for the next five months, Potter," Snape said in irritation. "There are much more sympathetic confidants than I. Your head of house, for instance, would treat the issue with delicacy and confidentiality."

"Don't worry, it's not like I'm going to be coming to you to talk about my feelings or anything," Harry appeased. "It's not your problem; it's mine. You don't have to think about it ever again."

With that, there seemed to be nothing left to say, so Snape swooped away moodily into the potions cupboard and Harry left relieved.

Of course, Snape _did_ think about it again, more than he would ever admit to.


	10. Chapter 10: Realizations

The next morning, Harry was distant all through breakfast. Lost in thought, he tapped his fork against his plate until Ginny leaned over and grabbed his wrist. He blinked at her in surprise. She just tilted her head questioningly.

"You okay?" she mouthed while Ron and Hermione bickered over Hermione's strict enforcement of an exhaustive O.W.L. study schedule.

Harry nodded reassuringly. He jerked his head toward Ron and Hermione and rolled his eyes. Ginny smiled, her eyes sparkling with humor. One of her friends addressed her and Ginny turned back to the conversation, leaving Harry to sink back into his thoughts.

It was the first day in a long time that he felt good. The pain potion was milking the sting from the cuts remaining cuts on his back and there was no other pain. He had energy; he had an appetite.

It was the _how_ that had him disturbed.

The previous evening had been a blur from the moment Snape had tugged out the first piece of glass, but now the memory shined clear as crystal. He had told Snape about the Dursleys... _all_ about the Dursleys. He wanted to groan in regret every time he thought about it. What had possessed him to just hand over such information to someone who made a career out of taunting him? He was mortified.

And yet, Snape had helped him. Of course, Dumbledore would have been furious if Snape had refused Harry's pleas for help so it was probably an issue of job security more than anything else.

Except...that excuse just didn't feel right.

Harry risked a quick glance at his Potions professor. Hagrid was cheerfully attempting to engage him in conversation, apparently oblivious to Snape blatantly ignoring him. The Potion's master scowled and took a drink from his goblet, scooting away from Hagrid as best he could.

Snape had reacted much differently than expected. Harry had been prepared for mockery and cruel words, talk about how Harry deserved what he'd got, how his parents would have been disgusted to see what a coward their son had become, and especially taunts about what a pitiful savior the world was trusting to save them.

But there had been none of that! Snape had almost seemed _concerned_ in his gruff, awkward manner. He had seemed angry with the Dursleys, not with him.

It didn't make a whole lot of sense; that was for sure.

Now he was paranoid that Snape would find a way around the privacy spells. The professor had insisted Dumbledore know...like Dumbedore would do anything.

It had admittedly surprised Harry that Snape thought Dumbledore, the man who knew everything, didn't know about this. Harry hadn't felt like explaining that while Dumbledore put on the grandfatherly fa溝de, his actions communicated that he thought of Harry as a tool above anything else. For what purpose, Harry was so far uncertain, but he wasn't stupid. Dumbledore had pointed the way to Flamel's famous stone, had given veiled hints and left weapons to fight the basilisk, had let he and Hermione go back in time for a dangerous mission and had pushed him to compete in a deadly tournament where he was frighteningly unprepared. Dumbledore was training him for something bigger. Why the man who defeated Grindelwald needed a teenager to fight Voldemort was beyond Harry, but it was clear that Dumbledore had decided the Dark Lord's defeat was to be Harry's job.

The headmaster had been so proud of each of his triumphs against impossible villains; what would he think if he knew Harry shuddered at the thought of a mere Muggle?

 _Snape can't tell anyone_ , Harry assured himself once again, but then realized he must look like a nutter nodding reassuringly to himself.

"See! Look what you've done to Harry! He's agreeing with his toast!" Ron gestured at him sadly while speaking pointedly at Hermione.

"If Harry's gone loony, that's nothing to do with me!" Hermione snorted indignantly.

Harry blushed and jumped into the fray as the mediator. He'd have to ponder the bizarre events of the previous evening later.

-

A few weeks later, Harry and Ron were found trudging up the tower stairs to the Divination classroom. Harry hated the class more than ever. Trelawney's predictions of his death had finally begun to get to him.

He therefore spent most of the class trying to mentally block out her dramatic wailing. Today's lecture was about palm reading and Harry was hugely relieved when Trelawney finally let them break off into pairs to practice. Harry admitted to Ron that he'd spaced out during the lesson. Ron just blinked at him blankly, then looked to the clock in confusion and asked how long he'd been asleep.

Still, Ron went first. He propped his book open for reference.

"Alright, er...this is your life line, I think," he said, squinting at the example in the text. "It curves so that means your life is, er..." He scratched his head and shrugged. "...wavy? Well, anyways, I can't tell which of these two lines are which so you're either going to be popular and attract more enemies than friends, or you'll have no friends but people will love you? Well, it'll be interesting to see you pull that one off, mate." Ron cocked his head to the side and turned Harry's hand at different angles as if waiting for the lines to suddenly make sense.

"Well, either way, at least my life will be wavy," teased Harry.

Unfortunately, Professor Trelawney overheard and swooped in, much to the boys' dismay.

"Let me demonstrate how palm-reading is done properly," she announced to the room at large. "I'll use Mr. Potter as an example. Now there's no need to be dramatic, Harry; please scoot your chair back over here."

Harry reluctantly conceded to her instructions. Professor Trelawney sat facing Harry and grabbed his hand. She stared intently at his palm for what seemed like hours. Just when people began whispering suspicions that she might have fallen asleep, she started tutting and sadly shaking her head.

"Oh you dear, dear boy, you have the shortest life line I've ever seen! I fear you will not survive the year. The jaggedness implies a long, painful death!"

Parvati and Lavender gasped, casting woeful looks to their tragically heroic housemate.

Harry's blood began to boil.

"Wasn't I already supposed to die like four times already?" Harry demanded in annoyance. "Do you _want_ me to die? Are you hoping I will so at least _one_ of your predictions will come true?"

Professor Trelawney gaped at him and the rest of the class stared in shock. Even Harry was a little taken aback by what had come out of his mouth. Ron cleared his throat and scratched his eyebrow in discomfort.

Their professor straightened her glasses with a huff. "The gift of the inner eye is a delicate medium. I don't expect someone without any talent in Divination to understand its complexities."

"Well, it seems to me that _you_ don't understand its complexities or we'd have seen at least _some_ sort of foresight at one point in this class!" Harry retorted stormily.

Ron peered at him in concern, obviously confused by Harry's sudden outburst.

Trelawney stood and brushed down her skirt indignantly. "In denial, clearly. You may take the rest of the class to reflect upon your fate. Go on now, shoo!"

Harry felt so unexpectedly furious with his professor that he jumped on the opportunity to leave without question. Ron caught his eye questioningly, probably ready to make a stand with Harry if Harry asked him to, but Harry just shook his head. He stormed from the classroom, reminding himself proudly of Hermione in their third year.

He made it to his dorm and threw down his books in frustration. He knew he shouldn't have reacted to Trelawney like that. It would raise a lot of eyebrows.

Harry paced around the room, trying to walk off his anger and sort through his thoughts. Strangely, though, his energy seemed to whoosh out of him and he felt himself start to feel dizzy. Looking to the mirror in confusion, he was startled to find how white his face had gone. He touched it gingerly, eyes wide, but as he began to feel dangerously faint, he climbed onto his bed and lied down, hoping the blood would make its way back to his head.

It took him a moment before comprehension struck him with the force of a punch: this was a sign of the cancer. He didn't know if it was from the illness itself or from the confused response of his magic to the sickness, but he just _knew_ that was what it was.

He had been trying to ignore everything since he'd gotten back, afraid the magnitude of his decision would overwhelm him, but now he realized that it must have been why he'd flipped out in Divination. Because even though he had made a point out of not thinking of his dark fate, when Trelawney had mentioned his drawn out, painful death, a part of him had recognized it as true.

 _I'm going to die_ , he thought in shock. It hadn't truly hit him until that moment. By this time next year, he wouldn't be alive. He wouldn't be able to immaturely stomp out of Divination...he wouldn't even be there. Ron would be sitting next to an empty seat.

Harry pulled his blanket over him and gripped it tightly as he tried not to panic.

Suddenly he burst into a coughing fit and covered his mouth out of habit. His eyes widened in horror to find a spray of blood on his hand. He scrambled out of bed and to the bathroom, still coughing wetly. He leaned over a sink until his coughs subsided, then shakily washed his hands and rinsed out his mouth.

He didn't know if Mr. Stenson had gone through the same thing or if while the cancer mutated his cells and his magic, something about the illness was changing as well. He had known from the beginning that because a Muggle illness could behave unpredictably in wizards it was forced into, he couldn't know if it would follow a similar course as with Mr. Stenson. Harry really had no idea what to expect, but one thing was alarmingly clear: he was dying. He was fifteen years old and he was dying.

He walked back to his bed in a daze and curled up once more beneath the covers, staring blankly into space.

-

Thankfully, nobody really questioned Harry's tantrum in Divination. Apparently, after watching Trelawney tell Harry he would die time after time, his classmates figured it had been a long time coming. Ron said everyone agreed that Harry was under enough stress with Voldemort after him without a spaced-out teacher constantly predicting his demise.

Ron happily ranted at every opportunity about why Trelawney should be fired and, as a general rule, kept away from impressionable children. After all, look what she'd done to Parvati and Lavender: the two girls seemed to actually believe in the crap being spewed in the incense-filled room! Ron comforted Harry by pointing out that if Parvati and Lavender actually thought Harry would die, they'd probably snog him out of pity.

Harry wasn't sure how comforting this sentiment actually was.

After lunch, it was back to class, and to make his bad day even worse, that class was Potions.

Ever since Snape had healed Harry's injuries, Harry dreaded each return to the dungeon. Throughout lecture, he'd squirm in his seat, sure that at any moment Snape would reveal to the entire class that Harry was a pathetic child who couldn't stand up to his uncle, or at least make veiled remarks about how the hero-worship was a laughable mistake.

It hadn't happened yet. In fact, Snape seemed to be avoiding him. Harry was beginning to relax, thinking it just might stay that way. After all, throughout his life adults had done their best to ignore the problems of his home life. When he had been younger he hadn't understood why until he realized how uncomfortable the subject made people. Neighbors didn't make eye contact, his teachers responded to every claim that his relatives hated him by saying it wasn't true without letting him explain why, even his school nurse had decided to accept his lame stories about falling down a lot and not liking to eat that much instead of investigating further. Harry had thus learned that it was a subject of shame that nobody wanted to get involved in.

Maybe Snape was so disappointed in Harry that it was even beyond mockery.

Harry was jolted from his thoughts as Snape burst into the room, robes billowing behind him and a scowl slashed on his face. To Harry's relief, the professor launched abruptly into his lecture, which included an abundance of insults peppered throughout any actual instruction.

Ron had always proposed playing a stealthy drinking game in class where everyone took one sip each time they were insulted as a part of a sweeping insult against all students, two sips for a barb for ones tailored for Gryffindors, three when the extra effort was put in to personalize it. They had yet to do this because a) there was no way they would ever get away with it and b) because nobody wanted Harry and Neville to die of alcohol poisoning in the first ten minutes of lecture.

That and, after his horrible summer, Harry had frankly developed a loathing of alcohol. The few times his roommates got their hands on it, he declined and spent the night hoping the alcohol wouldn't bring out anything ugly in his friends. The fact that it had thus far been only stupidity and giggles hadn't made him any fonder of the stuff and he was therefore developing an unfortunate reputation as a prude.

As they worked on their potions, Harry's eyebrows furrowed as he looked from the instructions to his ingredients and back. Something wasn't right. The method of preparation didn't seem complete; the ingredients would react poorly with each other if the instructions were followed as was.

Without fully understanding how he was recalling details from old reading and past lectures, he went with his instincts. When he saw Neville fumbling with his ingredients, Harry leaned over and whispered urgently for him to stop and re-crush his asp tongue into a fine powder. Neville obeyed, albeit reluctantly. After all, Potions wasn't exactly Harry's best subject, but Neville was nice enough not to ignore Harry's attempts at being helpful. Harry gave Ron the hint too, who passed it on, assuming the tip had come from Hermione.

When the Slytherin's potions began to explode or turn sickly green instead of the vibrant purple of the Gryffindor's potions were turning, Neville shot Harry a look of thankful surprise.

Snape, of course, became immediately suspicious that half his students were actually able to correctly complete the lesson.

Luckily, he unknowingly targeted the right person.

"Mr. Potter, explain to the class how your potion came out correctly _without_ assistance from Miss Granger," he commanded smugly.

Harry cleared his throat, ignoring Hermione's confused and sympathetic glance. It was obvious she couldn't fathom how Harry had stumbled upon the right way to do it and was positive he wouldn't be able to recount his steps.

"I just followed the instructions but made sure to take the correct steps in preparing the ingredients, which you, uh, _neglected_ to mention on the board. I fully crushed the asp tongue so it could dissolve before the asphodel was added. Otherwise it wouldn't bind with the thiamin and would lose its acidity, which would ruin the potion," Harry explained confidently.

Snape was apparently stumped. "How do you know that?" he demanded distrustfully.

 _Because I'm sick._ The thought suddenly occurred to him and it abruptly made sense. This was supposed to happen; he just hadn't thought it would happen so soon.

Harry chewed his bottom lip, thinking quickly for a usable explanation. He felt Neville squirm beside him, getting nervous that Snape might ask him the same question.

"Well, Neville put together a Potions study session and with the, uh, extra review, I guess I'm understanding it more," Harry invented slowly.

Neville's eyes darted to him before he bowed his head to avoid giving away the lie. The other Gryffindors were more game to play along and nodded in agreement to the story.

Snape ran his skeptical eyes across the line of them. Harry didn't think the potion's master was completely convinced, but the man had no proof they were lying.

"Very well. Two points to Gryffindor." He stalked off to record this, looking appalled at himself.

The rest of the room stood frozen, jaws slack. This was the first time any of them had witnessed Snape giving points to Gryffindor.

Snape looked up from his point counter and glared. "Get back to work or I'll take fifty points from everyone!"

Everyone snapped back into pouring their potions into corked vials and bringing them to the storage shelf. The clock finally signaled their release and everyone rushed for the door.

"Mr. Potter, stay after class," Snape barked, not looking up from his grade book. Harry froze. He prayed this was about class today and not about what had happened with his injuries.

He warily made his way to the front where he waited until the classroom was clear and Snape finally acknowledged his presence.

"How are your injuries healing?" Snape asked, hands folded on his desk and a solemn expression on his face.

"Fine," Harry said cautiously. "They don't hurt anymore."

"Any sign of infection?"

Harry shook his head. "No sir. The potions are really helping. Thank you."

"I see you've developed a cough."

Harry had vaguely noticed coughing throughout class, but it was nothing as dramatic as earlier. "Yeah, I think I'm coming down with a cold or something."

Snape frowned and walked around his desk. He waved his wand over Harry's chest thoughtfully. He shook his head in disbelief. "Merlin, Potter, you're well on your way to a severe respiratory infection."

Harry stared at him blankly.  
"Do you seek treatment _any_ time you're feeling ill?" Snape demanded.

"I guess I felt a little under the weather yesterday, but I didn't start feeling sick until today," he said cautiously, unsure how much he should reveal.

Snape swooped off to the potions cupboard. "It's unusual for a chest cold to get out of control so swiftly. It seems you are not fighting off infection properly," he said while searching through bottles. That made sense. Harry recalled something about immune systems and frequent infections from when he first read up on Leukemia. This wasn't quite what he'd expected, but that just showed how little he knew. "It must be a result of damage done to your body after letting your last infection go on so long. Let this be a lesson in the necessities of early medical attention, Potter."

Harry nodded despite knowing this was a misinformed assumption and Snape stalked back with more vials. "One sip twice a day for two weeks, preferably on an empty stomach, but if it upsets your stomach, take it after food. First sip: right now."

Harry obediently followed instructions, crinkling his nose. It tasted like powdered alcohol.

It occurred to him as he re-corked the vial, how he had done it without a moment's question. Last year, he would have been sure Snape was trying to poison him. It was disconcerting that he'd begun to trust Snape because trusting led to relying on the person being there and Snape definitely was not someone who would even want Harry relying on him.

"Have you reconsidered telling the headmaster?"

Harry stifled a cough. "About being sick?" As soon as the question left his mouth and Snape looked at him like he was an idiot, Harry understood what he had meant. Harry looked away. "Oh. No."

Snape heaved a sigh. "I gather you aren't planning to."

Harry didn't say anything to that.

Snape rubbed the bridge of his big nose. Harry didn't really understand why this was stressing Snape out. Why did he care who Harry told? It wasn't his problem to worry about.

"Look," Harry ventured, "I'm not going to tell Dumbledore ever, but if he somehow finds out, I won't tell him you know. And if he finds _that_ out, I promise I'll make it clear you were under the confidentiality clause. You won't get in trouble."

"I am not concerned with getting _in trouble_ , Potter, I am concerned that your stubbornness is keeping you trapped in a _disgusting_ situation," Snape spat. "What will you do come summer? You cannot go back there."

Harry fiddled with his sleeve miserably. "I can handle it. I know I haven't done a good job with it so far, but I could be ready this time around."

"And if he pushes you through a table again?" Snape challenged fiercely. "You nearly died, Potter. You're lucky you ended up somewhere you could get magical medical attention."

Harry bravely met Snape's eye. "Thank you for that. Really. And thank you for not bringing it up. I mean, I know you can't just blurt it all out or anything, but thank you for not...you know...alluding to it."

Snape stared at him grimly. "Potter, I know you don't think highly of me, but I would never use a child's traumatic memories of being abused against him in any way. That would be a depraved abuse of trust."

Harry blinked at him. "I'm not a child."

Snape leaned forward, his palms going flat against the desktop. "Potter, you must inform someone who can help you. McGonagall or Dumbledore. Madam Pomfrey would perhaps be easiest since she is not an alarmist and has no greater motive than protecting her students."

"I can't," Harry said quietly.

"Why not?" Snape asked in exasperation. "There is no rational reason to keep this to yourself!"

Harry grabbed his bag and stood. He shrugged his shoulders sorrowfully. "I just couldn't let them down like that."

With that, he turned and left without looking back.

Snape rubbed his forehead with one hand once the door closed behind the student he had loathed for the past four and a half years.

He didn't know how he had gotten dragged into this impossible situation and had no idea what to do with this terrible secret.


	11. Chapter 11: Significant Surprises

Harry slipped into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and hurried to his seat, casting an apologetic glance at the professor when the class looked up at their late classmate. Lupin nodded in understanding.

The other Gryffindors grinned at him with pride and Neville regarded him with near-reverence. Harry blushed and slumped down into his chair. The whole "we studied because of Neville" thing had felt like a nice thing to do at the time, but now he felt a little stupid under all the attention. Besides, not to burst Neville's bubble, but he doubted mention of Neville organizing a study group had changed how Snape felt toward the clumsy boy.

"So," Professor Lupin lectured with his kind smile, "let's get a little hands-on practice, shall we? Everyone pair up. On my signal, you will try to disable your partner. The winners will pair up with each other and we'll continue the process until there's a winner, who can then take a crack at disarming me."

The class laughed brightly, in good spirits over some good-natured competition and a break from the books. Rustling and scraping filled the room as desks were pushed out of the way and people grabbed partners.

Neville hurried up to Harry with a hopeful look and Harry nodded, hoping his face didn't betray worry of Neville mixing up his hexes again. Memories of Neville accidentally making the legs disappear off a test dummy the previous week unnerved Harry a little, but when Neville began to apologize prematurely at being bad at magic, Harry firmly cut him off and insisted Neville was a great wizard.

Neville beamed beatifically. Harry made a mental note to protect his legs.

After Lupin outlined final rules, everyone bowed and got into the appropriate stances.

"Begin!"

Harry paled as Neville threw a leg-locker curse, but with a wave of his wand, the curse disappeared on-course. Neville's eyes widened and even Harry faltered for a moment. He hadn't known he could do that.

Neville prepared to send another, but Harry rapidly fired the jelly-legs hex and the disarming spell. A good sport, Neville laughed and complimented Harry while the dark-haired boy helped Neville to his feet.

Harry was a little dazed, though. He could have sworn the curses left his wand almost before he had voiced them.

"Told you I was rubbish," Neville muttered with a blush. He was the first to lose.

"You're not rubbish," Harry chastised. "You just need practice. I got lots last year when Hermione was preparing me for the..." His words abruptly halted as images from the third task sprang up unexpectedly. He looked away.

Neville grew serious, his eyes full of sympathy as he put a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "You okay?"

Harry pushed the horrible thoughts away. "Yeah. Fine." He eventually nodded to Ron and Hermione, the last pair standing. "Ron's giving her a run for her money. I'm a little impressed."

"Yeah, I didn't think anyone could take Hermione except a professor," Neville agreed.

Hermione and Ron simultaneously shouted "Petrificus Totalus!" They both stiffened and crashed to the floor.

Professor Lupin swiftly canceled the hex and they both laughed it off, climbing to their feet. Ron was happy he had stood his ground and Hermione was too busy critiquing her own performance to be sore about losing.

Harry went through his next partners just as quickly and easily. Neville seemed less self-conscious when Harry took down Seamus, Lavender and two Hufflepuffs within seconds. And then, Harry was the only one left.

"I'm impressed, Harry. _Very_ impressed," Lupin congratulated. "Because of the speed in which you've won with your other partners, I'm not going to hold back. I'll use some advanced spells and curses, so you may need to simply focus on blocking as many as you can, all right?"

Harry nodded, preparing to get his arse handed to him.

"Miss Granger, may you give the signal?"

They both bowed and took their positions.

"All right," Hermione said excitedly. "Begin!"

Professor Lupin immediately began to fire unfamiliar curses at Harry in rapid succession. It was strange, though. It was almost as if everything were moving a little slower than they should. Harry dodged, blocked or deflected each one of them with surprisingly little effort. He wondered if his professor had gone easy on him after all. Yet, Lupin seemed surprised and began to shoot the curses faster.

It didn't make much difference to Harry.

Finally remembering that he didn't _have_ to just play defensively, he shouted, "Expelliarmus!" and Lupin's wand was suddenly in his hand.

The whole class, including Professor Lupin, stood in shocked silence. Harry began to feel uncomfortable. Sure he had an edge after last year's training, but it was almost like his magic itself had become more...oh.

So it was working. The cancer was mutating his magic. He was becoming more powerful.

"Harry," Professor Lupin started, still staring in disbelief. "That was incredible. How did you do that?"

Harry shrugged sheepishly. "I don't know, I just did," he offered, not knowing what else to say. "Er...here's your want back, sir."

"Well class, let's have a hand for our dueling champion." The class broke into applause. "Ten, no _fifteen_ points to Gryffindor. Keep up the good work, Harry."

The class was dismissed and Ron and Hermione bounced excitedly at his sides.

"Goodness, Harry, that was amazing! You beat a professor!" Hermione gushed animatedly as they walked through the hall.

"Yeah, mate, you're on a roll today. First, you make a potion right..."

Harry glared at him, indignant at the insinuation that getting a potion right was so rare, but Ron carried on oblivious.

"...then you kicked professor arse. What's next, you gonna predict something in Divination? Going to go beat up a dragon?"

Harry laughed along like he was supposed to, but he wasn't sure how to feel about the whole thing. Sure, it seemed great: extra power, quick intellect...it was exactly what he'd need to finish off Voldemort. But it also meant that he was getting sicker. His impressive abilities were really just a showy mask to distract from the insidious illness creeping through his body, slowly killing him.

-

At dinner, tales of Harry's dueling prowess and of the potions incident spread down the table.

"Come on, it wasn't a big deal," Harry insisted. "I told you, I practiced a lot last year for the tournament."

"So did I," Hermione pointed out as others turned away to chat. "I taught you and I can't do that. That was something more."

Harry shook his head. "It was nothing. Can we change the subject?" He began to reach for the salt but didn't have to extend his arm far. The saltshaker flew off the table and smacked into his hand.

Harry was so stunned he dropped the saltshaker as if it were a hot coal. It clattered to the table and people's gazes jerked toward him. He picked it up and swept the salt off the edge of the table with a hand, muttering about being clumsy.

"Harry..." Hermione whispered. She and Ron stared at him, jaws slack. Hermione looked around to make sure nobody was looking and then leaned in over the table. She hesitantly picked up the saltshaker and placed it next to her. "Try that again."

"Hermione..." Harry began to protest, but didn't know how to finish.

"Do it, mate," Ron urged, too stunned to be excited yet.

Uncertainly, Harry stuck out his hand toward it.

Nothing happened.

"Try to make it come to you," she whispered. "Tell it to with your mind."

He warily followed her instructions. It didn't take much mental concentration for the saltshaker to slide across the table into his waiting hand.

"Bloody hell," Ron breathed.

"You can do wandless magic!" Hermione hissed. "Harry, even Dumbledore only has limited wandless abilities and he didn't develop those until he trained to fight Grindelwald!"

Harry paled and pushed the salt away. "No. I think there's some mistake."

"Mistake? Mate, we just saw you do it," Ron laughed in amazement. "That's so wicked! Try doing something else."

Hermione nodded eagerly.

Surrendering to it all, Harry looked at Hermione's plate and wordlessly told it to spin. They all watched in wonder as Hermione's plate whirled in place.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered again. Then, his plate started spinning too.

"Two at once," Harry smiled.

"Harry?" came a voice at his side. The two plates clattered noisily as they fell back to the table and Harry looked up in alarm. It was Neville. "Will you tutor me in Potions?"

Relieved he hadn't been caught, Harry tried to convince Neville that he wouldn't be a very good tutor, but when Eloise Midgen from Hufflepuff overheard on her way over to her table and nervously asked if he could tutor her too, Harry finally relented and said he'd try his best.

He ate quickly before anyone else could ask for tutoring, and Ron and Hermione kept up with his pace. As soon as they could, they practically dragged him from the hall.

"This is unbelievable!" Hermione gushed as they walked through the near-empty halls. Most everyone was still at dinner. "You'll have to practice, of course. We should see what your capabilities are. I'll have to do some research so we can see how to best use it."

"Use it?" Harry said weakly. He already felt like a weapon.

"To protect yourself," Hermione explained. "You-Know-Who is clearly after you. He's failed in killing you before, yes, but last year he failed in front of his servants. I think he'll try again and he'll be determined. I've been so terrified about it, but here's our answer!"

Harry felt pleasantly warm at that. Hermione had been scared for him? That was unexpected, but really, really nice to hear.

"And if you help me with my dueling, since you're obviously good at that now too, then maybe I could be an Auror with you. If we work on fighting together and make it clear we have a system going, then maybe we could convince them that we've gotta be partners! How wicked would that be?"

Harry smiled in excitement at the idea, but then it faltered. Oh yeah. Harry could never be an Auror. He would never have _any_ job.

"You've decided on a career, Ron?" Hermione asked eagerly.

"Calm down, I don't need your nagging. I'm _thinking_ about it."

Hermione huffed.

"What about you, then?" Ron asked her. "Let me guess. A professor?"

Hermione blushed. "Well, I'm considering it."

"Take over Professor Trelawney's job. We need to get rid of that old bat."

Hermione didn't bother scolding Ron about bad-mouthing a teacher. It was clear she agreed.

"I would not teach Divination," she said primly as they climbed into the surprisingly empty common room. "I would teach something useful. I couldn't teach Defense, obviously, I don't have the practical skills for that, but I'd consider other openings like Charms or Transfiguration. Runes would be ideal."

"What are you talking about?" Harry argued. "You've got Defense skills."

She shook her head. "Not like you. In fact, I think _you_ should consider teaching Defense."

"But Harry's going to be an Auror," Ron protested.

"I'm not going to be an Auror," Harry muttered miserably. "Or a teacher."

"Okay," Hermione said cautiously, picking up on his mood. "What are you going to do then once we graduate?"

Harry pictured the graduation ceremony: Hermione and Ron going up to accept their diplomas, all the Gryffindors hugging each other and vowing to keep in touch, being congratulated by their proud families. He wondered if when the P names were called if there would be any moment of sadness among his classmates or if two years was enough time that they would have already moved on.

"I'm...I'm not going to graduate from Hogwarts."

Ron looked confused. "It's not like Snape can fail you, especially after today."

Hermione tilted her head sympathetically. "Harry, you _will_ survive Voldemort. We'll make sure you do."

Harry licked his lips. They suddenly felt very dry. This was going to be difficult.

"You guys should sit down. I have something I need to tell you."

His friends now looked worried, but they obediently took their seats on a couch. Harry started to pace but soon realized that he felt fatigued. He hoped it was just from stress and not a symptom that would become constant in the next few months. His energy was something he didn't want to give up. He needed it to do what he wanted with his time left.

Harry stiffly sat across from his two best friends. He tried to start several times, but didn't know how one delivered such news.

"You're not thinking of leaving Hogwarts to chase after You-Know-Who, are you?" Hermione abruptly demanded. "Because that wouldn't be smart. You're not prepared. You..."

"No. I'm not running off. This is really hard to say. Just, okay, you remember I was having Hermione help me research magical cures for cancer?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "But we didn't find anything."

" _We_ didn't, but _I_ did."

Hermione perked up in interest. "You did? That's wonderful! Did it actually work?" She gasped. "You broke some law. Is that it?"

"Dumbledore will help you out," Ron insisted. "He always comes through."

Harry swallowed with difficulty. "I didn't break a law. I didn't find a cure exactly. I found an old spell that transfers it from a Muggle to a wizard."

He couldn't bring himself to finish.

There was a pause. Suddenly Hermione reeled backward, bracing her hands against the back cushions.

"Harry, no. No," she choked out. "NO. Harry, you have to transfer it back!"

"I can't," Harry said softly. "It can't be transferred more than once; not back, not to anyone else."

"What? What's going on?" Ron demanded, completely freaked out by Hermione's reaction to something he didn't yet comprehend.

"It'll help me defeat Voldemort. It's what's affecting my magic." Harry explained under Hermione's wide-eyed stare. "I had to."

Hermione burst into hysterical tears and buried her face in her hands.

"So, you're sick with something Muggle?" Ron asked hesitantly. "Hermione, calm down, I can't think! What are you sick with? Whatever it is, St. Mungo's can help."

Harry took a deep breath. "Ron, the cancer will follow the same path as Mr. Stenson's. It's fatal. There's no magical cure; I've researched it and talked to Madam Pomfrey. It's why I did this. If there was another way, I'd have just cured Mr. Stenson."

Ron bolted to his feet. He stepped toward Harry, then took a step back. He blinked and his eyes searched Harry's in panic. "Are you saying you're _dying_?"

Harry hung his head and nodded.

"You _chose_ to do this?" Ron demanded in a choked voice. His face was turning red with fury.

"I had to, Ron."

"You HAD to?" he exploded. "How long have you known these people? A few months? You chose to give up your life for some people you hardly know? Did you ever think about US?"

"Well, I didn't just do it for them, I can use the extra powers to save everyone. Nobody else has to die."

"Except YOU!" Ron screamed. Two first years coming through the portrait hole stopped and stared. Ron whipped around, eyes blazing. "Get out of here!"

The two girls tore off up the stairs toward their room.

Ron whirled back to Harry. "You didn't think there could be _some_ other way to defeat You-Know-Who? You just found some spell that will kill you for extra powers and you just jumped on it without even _considering_ anything else! I don't believe you. Even _you_ wouldn't be _this_ impulsive!"

Harry cowered back into his chair under Ron's wrath. He hadn't been expecting this, exactly. Hermione's tears didn't really surprise him but when Ron was mad he usually just gave Harry the cold shoulder. Seeing Ron rage like this wasn't something Harry had witnessed before.

"He would have _died_ if I hadn't done it."

"So what?" Ron snarled.

"Well, what if it was _your_ dad? The only family I've ever known is yours and the Stensons."

"What are you asking? If I would let you trade your life for one of my family members?" Ron asked incredulously. "I would _never_ let you do that."

Harry looked to his best friend skeptically. "Come on, Ron, if your dad were in the hospital about to die and I would take his place, you know you wouldn't be reacting like this. He's your family and..."

"YOU'RE MY FAMILY!" Ron roared, breathing heavily. Hermione, who had been finally getting control of herself, dissolved once more into sobs. "Those _people_ are not your family. You barely know them."

"That's not true!" Harry protested heatedly. "They let me stay with them a lot during the summer and they took me in for winter hols."

Ron's jaw dropped and he ran his hands roughly down his face. "You have got to be kidding me! What did you think this would do, Harry, make them adopt you or something? You think this guy's going to think of you as his son because you did this? Someone who lets you do something like this..."

"He doesn't know! He just thinks I cured him," Harry interrupted. His own face was growing hot. Ron's words hurt badly. "And you don't know anything about them! Maybe he _will_..." Harry cut himself off and looked away.

"He'll what? He'll adopt you?"

Harry shrugged and picked at the hem of his sleeve. "Maybe."

Ron just stared at him. Harry honestly wondered if Ron was going to punch him.

"I'm not expecting anything. That's not why I did it," he tried to explain quickly. "I still haven't even decided whether or not to tell them. But even if nothing comes out of it for me, now their family won't be torn apart. You didn't see the Diggories after they lost Cedric. They're never going to get over it. The Stensons wouldn't have either. It's just the three of them."

Ron readied himself to rip into Harry again, but Hermione suddenly lifted her head and put a hand on his freckled arm. Ron stilled and instead of talking, he suddenly grabbed a pile of books and hurled them against the wall.

Harry jumped at the resulting crash but Hermione didn't even seem to notice. She stared at him almost blankly.

"How long?" she asked in a hoarse voice.

"I can't be sure," he replied with great difficulty, "but about five months."

Ron collapsed back onto the couch. He bowed his head and wrapped his fists into his orange hair.

"Please don't be mad," he addressed them both insecurely. "I don't think I could handle it with everything else if you stop talking to me."

Hermione looked up at him in horror and shook her head. She opened her mouth to presumably say she would never do that, but Ron suddenly stood.

"You deserve it," he said darkly and started toward the boys' tower.

Harry felt panic welling. Ron had given him the cold shoulder for months the previous year over something much less serious.

Harry jumped up and started after his best friend.

"Ron!" He tried to yell it angrily but it came out like a needy plea.

" _Ron_!" There was the anger. But it came from Hermione. Harry looked back to find her standing with the aura of an impending storm. "Harry has five months left with us. Do you plan to waste that time punishing him or are you going to spend it with your best friend?" Her voice hiccupped halfway through the last question and her chin started wobbling again, but she kept her control.

Ron stilled. He kept his back toward them and wiped his arm across his face several times. Finally he turned around, his eyes looking suspiciously moist.

"Okay," he said in defeat. "I'm still mad at you, but I'll try to get over it. I'm here for you, one-hundred percent, yeah?"

Harry gulped and nodded. "Thanks."

Hermione walked over and hugged Harry desperately.

Students started heading in from dinner so Hermione led them up to Harry and Ron's dorm, tearfully talking about research and sternly arguing with Harry about seeing Madam Pomfrey. Ron stayed mostly silent. When Harry asked him not to tell his family, Ron only said that he'd think about it.

Hermione eventually raced off to the library before it closed despite Harry begging her not to waste her night researching. Ron just sort of shut down. His face was emotionless and he went to bed early without touching his homework.

Harry was therefore left alone, feeling shaky from the emotional trauma of his revelation. He decided not to tell the Stensons. What if Mr. Stenson got mad like Ron? Harry didn't ever want Mr. Stenson raging at him like that. It would remind him too much of his uncle. Harry would rather remain blissfully ignorant, wanting to believe his sacrifice could be rewarded with a family. If that wasn't the reaction he received, Harry was unsure if everything he had done to convince himself of this would come crashing down.

And he couldn't change his mind now; there was no turning back.


	12. Chapter 12: The Dream

CHAPTER 12  
THE DREAM

Over the next few days, the trio struggled in dealing with Harry's revelation. Ron was abnormally quiet while Hermione overcompensated, speaking loudly, in sudden bursts with forced excitement about trivial things. Harry winced every time she blurted out questions about how the boys were doing in Divination or with facts from _Hogwarts, A History_. There was a sort of crazed desperation to Hermione's new rambling and Harry couldn't help but stare at her, startled, every time she erupted into speech.

Ron didn't seem to notice.

It became noticeable enough that Ginny elbowed him at dinner one evening and jerked her head toward her brother. She asked if anything was wrong. Hermione overheard and, with a panicked look, started laughing and then recited a rant about house elf rights that would fail to convince even _her_ of her own cause. Ginny was so unsettled she leaned back in her seat and blinked in bewilderment.

"Is everything...okay?" she asked Harry quietly.

Harry muttered something about the stress of O.W.L.s and silenced Hermione with a warning glare. The poor girl seemed almost grateful and slumped over her food looking utterly worn out.

Even worse was their newfound obsessive worry about Harry's health. The only time Ron came out of his stupor and Hermione seemed to understand her place in the world was when Harry showed any sign of being sick. When he coughed, their heads whipped around and their eyes bore into him, ready to jump into a full interrogation. Why did he cough? What were his other symptoms? Did it feel like it was from his throat or from his lungs? When he felt tired one day and looked a little too grateful to fall into the common room chair after class, the two vultures descended. How much sleep did he get the night before? How tired did he feel on a scale of one to ten? Was it his mind that was tired or his body or both?

Finally, Harry snapped. He grabbed their arms, pulled them into an empty classroom and sternly told them to get a hold of themselves before he completely cracked and ran away from Hogwarts to escape the constant badgering.

Hermione stared at him wide-eyed and sputtered protests that Harry cut off sharply.

"I'll give you detention, Hermione!" he threatened. "I'm a prefect; I can do it."

The corner of Ron's mouth twitched and suddenly the redhead was laughing. Then Harry was laughing and then Hermione. They laughed until tears came.

Harry suspected some of the tears may have been from something other than the laughter, but they all pretended they weren't.

After that, Ron started talking again and Hermione's verbal hysteria died down.

The days went on. They found that Harry had good days and not so good days. Sometimes he felt fine and his magic vibrated impatiently inside of him. On these days, Hermione cast the boys disapproving glances as Ron scouted the room for potential mischief, then signaled Harry who would, with a twitch of a finger, summon sweets from owners who looked away for a moment or move cups around and snicker as the owners blindly reached their hands out for their drinks and missed every time.

Other days, he felt tired and his body ached. On these days, Hogwarts's vast number of staircases seemed an impossible burden and he found himself winded halfway up each one. These days also brought unspoken drama to the dinner table, since he often lost his appetite and Hermione refused to accept it. In general, he found he bruised more easily and there was a small scare when he got a paper cut that refused to stop seeping blood even an hour later. Harry refused to see Madam Pomfrey despite the protests of his friends, knowing she'd figure things out. Hermione finally flung herself at her stack of library books and manically flipped through pages while Ron squeezed a towel around Harry's bleeding finger with both hands, ignoring Harry's complaints that Ron was making his finger go numb.

Hermione finally found a minor healing spell to force blood on the surface of a wound to clot and the crisis came to an abrupt end.

But the bad days were currently much fewer than the good ones, so things were able to reach a level of normality that was different from before, but something they all adjusted to.

After another impressive day in Defense class, demonstrating an awe-inspiring ability to resist the effects of spells that _did_ hit him, Lupin asked Harry to stay after class.

Once Hermione and Ron were persuaded to leave his side, Harry warily approached Lupin's desk. He began to worry that he should have hid the effects of his magic better. What if Lupin had looked into it and had figured it all out?

But instead of looking upset, the professor wore an expression of excitement. He conjured some tea and Harry politely accepted the proffered chipped teacup.

"Harry, your abilities in Defense are...unlike anything I have ever seen, to say the least," Lupin began. "Your parents would be so proud. Lily was an amazing student, but this...well, this is beyond anything even she would have imagined."

Harry frowned into his tea. He felt dirty at the compliment. He didn't want his mother's accomplishments diminished because of this. Because he wasn't really a good student like her. In a way, he was cheating.

He felt terrible, but how could he defend his mother without confessing? He wasn't ready for people to know. They'd be afraid he was leaving them to fight Voldemort on their own when there was an undeniable sense that it was his job. It was best if this news waited until he had a clear plan laid out to defeat the Dark Lord. Once he took care of everything people wanted of him, then they would understand.

Lupin continued enthusiastically. "I spoke with the headmaster and he agreed that extra lessons in Defense might benefit you. If you can learn to use these abilities to their full potential, you could defend yourself in nearly any situation. It would help you in dealing with Voldemort and his Death Eaters. If you're interested in becoming an Auror, there's no way they could turn down your application once they see your performance on your N.E.W.T.s, no matter any weaknesses in other areas."

Harry blushed a little, embarrassed that Lupin was making him out to be some sort of prodigy. "Wouldn't that be a lot of extra work for you?"

Lupin waved a dismissive hand and smiled warmly. "Any extra effort on my part would be rewarded many times over if it helps you defend yourself against even one extra spell. I know you're busy with other classes and Quidditch practices, but if you're up to squeezing this into your schedule about once a week, I think you have depths of untapped potential begging to be explored."

Harry hesitated. It sounded interesting and, with being at the top of a madman's hit list, it did seem practical to buff up his dueling skills, but warning bells flared. It seemed like at some point, people were going to start asking questions.

Still, wasn't one of the reasons behind doing the Recnac spell to defeat Voldemort? He needed this training and if Lupin started suspecting something, it wasn't the end of the world. Harry just preferred that drama to be left until he felt he could better deal with it.

So, he nodded and took a sip of his tea.

-

That night at dinner, he relayed his conversation with Lupin to Ron and Hermione.

Hermione looked doubtful. "Harry, are you sure this is a good idea? That sounds physically demanding and I don't want you getting any worse because of it."

"If I'm not feeling up to it one night, I'll just tell him I have loads of homework or something. Besides, I think it might be handy since Voldemort's so keen on having my head on a stick."

Ron winced in distaste at the image but voiced his support for the idea. Hermione began sternly outlining clear restrictions about when Harry should cancel an extra lesson.

Ron watched in increasing amusement as Harry's fork floated low along the table, stabbed into Hermione's dinner roll, and floated back to Harry's hand. He had been stealing food off her plate with wandless magic throughout dinner and she had yet to notice. Now she only had a scoop of pudding on her plate.

Hermione jutted a finger at him. "Do I make myself clear?"

Harry rolled her eyes. "Yes _mother_."

Hermione's fork stabbed at her plate and she yelped as it clanged against the ceramic. She blinked at her empty plate, then surveyed the surrounding area as if her food had just jumped off the edge.

"What in the..."

Ron burst out laughing. Hermione looked up at him and then followed his gaze back to her dish where Harry's spoon was scooping up some of her pudding. She made a grab for it but it dodged her grasp and floated quickly back to a grinning Harry.

She shot him an amused glare as he popped the spoon in his mouth.

"Mmm...delicious," he teased through a lopsided grin.

"Boys," she huffed in exasperation. She started refilling her plate, "they're blessed with the power of wandless magic and they use it to steal extra helpings. I would expect this of Ron..."

"Hey!"

Harry grinned happily and took another bite.

-

Meanwhile, Harry had begun tutoring Neville and Eloise in Potions. They met every few days in the library. At first, Harry felt guilty meeting Eloise's eye. Each time he saw the acne on her cheeks he remembered Ron's comments about not wanting to go to the Yule Ball with her because he thought she was ugly. He felt ashamed of having smirked at his friend's dramatics while the object of ridicule was really just a fellow, insecure student.

But Eloise was nice and she had a bluntness about her that Harry enjoyed. She dubbed their study group the "Hated by Snape Club" after hearing stories from the Gryffindor-Slytherin fifth year class and relaying some of her own nightmares with the man. She had to concede that the Potion's master did seem to hold a special place in his shriveled black heart for Neville and Harry, so Harry was the president, Neville was the vice-president and Eloise was the queen. Neville pointed out that this didn't quite fit, but Eloise assured him she was comfortable being a powerless figurehead whose only job was to make them seem a little fancier.

"Alright, so if Snape gave you this list of ingredients and asked you what potion you were making, what would you tell him?" Harry quizzed. The two hunched over the list.

Neville sighed and sat back in his chair.

"I'd tell him to take that list and shove it up his-"

"Neville!" Eloise scolded, hand flying to her chest. "How can you speak that way in front of royalty. My sensibilities are offended."

Harry crossed his arms and chuckled.

"Then," Neville continued proudly, "I'd tell him it was a Campanile Draught."

Harry smiled in approval. His two pupils were coming a long way fast.

"Great, Neville! Seriously, good job. Now, what order would you put them in, how would you prepare the ingredients and why?"

The two scribbled rapidly on pieces of parchment. After a minute, Eloise slammed down her quill.

"Done!" she declared loud and proud...a little _too_ loud in fact. Mrs. Pince shushed her, glaring down the end of her nose.

"Alright, let's hear it then," Harry instructed quietly. Eloise read off her procedure and looked up to Harry for confirmation.

"Good, just one step you forgot. What do you say, Neville?"

Neville took a moment to think and glanced over Eloise's notes. "Crush the adder's scales?" he offered hopefully. Harry nodded and gestured for him to continue into an explanation of why. "...Because it wouldn't mix properly with the hemlock and then the whole thing would become poisonous?"

"Great! You guys will be acing this class soon...well, if Snape gets off our backs, of course." He piled up his stuff and slid them neatly into his book bag.

"Yeah, it's that last step that's the killer, though. But hey, did you see Snape's face when I explained to him how I made our last potion? It looked like he swallowed a Mandrake!" Neville grinned excitedly. Harry laughed and the three exited the library with thankful nods to the grouchy librarian.

"Yeah, I remember. Precious moments in Potions."

"Well I passed the last pop quiz," Eloise noted proudly. In Snape's class, this was no small feat. The two boys applauded and she took a few mock bows. " _And_ I was bragging about it in the halls loud enough that I think Roger Davies may have overheard. He looked over when I said it! Suzan said he was fixing his hair in the mirror behind me, so I guess that could be interpreted as him more looking _past_ me than _at_ me, but I take it as progress."

Harry cocked his head as if straining his ear. "I think I can hear the wedding bells now!"

Neville sniggered and Eloise stuck her tongue out at him.

"You just wait. One day when he isn't distracted by those hiked-up skirts of the seventh-year girls, he'll come crawling to me," she said with a superior tone. "And then he'll buy me a huge diamond ring and profess his undying love that he's just been hiding all these years and we'll buy a house on an island in the Caribbean and live happily ever after."

There was a long silence.

Neville cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Eloise," he said tentatively, "you've given this way too much thought, haven't you?"

Eloise's dreamy expression persevered. "Yes Neville. Yes I have."

-

Harry walked into the Defense classroom. It looked different at night, less active. Of course, the absence of other students helped that image. The desks were all pushed against the walls, leaving a large area to duel. It was weird to know this was all waiting just for him.

But Harry's focus didn't stay on the classroom's setup for long. Down from Lupin's office descended not only the professor, but Dumbledore and McGonagall as well.

"Harry! Right on time," Lupin beamed. "I hope you don't mind an audience."

"An audience for tutoring?" Harry asked unsurely. "Is there really anything to see?"

"Don't feel pressured, Harry," Dumbledore said with a smile, leaning against Lupin's desk. "Your head of house and I are simply interested in watching. Professor Lupin says you've shown great skill in Defense."

Harry blushed and adjusted the book bag on his shoulder. "I think I'm just a little ahead 'cause I prepared for the Tri-Wizard Tournament, sir."

"Don't sell yourself short, Harry. My N.E.W.T. students couldn't disarm me with the ease you did. If you'll allow me a lapse of modesty, I have colleagues that would have trouble doing so."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, feeling uncomfortable. "Well, what if you're just going easy on me without realizing it 'cause of my parents?"

"We'll judge that," McGonagall said. Harry got the sense she was trying to disguise her excitement.

Harry dropped his book bag off to the side and Lupin led him to the center of the dueling area.

"All right, Harry, I'm going to bump it up a step from what we did in class. Normally, I would suggest you simply try to block them but I think you can do more. I want you to try and disarm me as quickly as you can."

Harry nodded, casting nervous glances at Dumbledore and McGonagall. This whole situation was a little unnerving.

They bowed and took their positions.

"Begin," Lupin shouted and instantly shot a curse at Harry, who blocked it almost mindlessly before shooting the leg-locker hex back. This time, however, Lupin was ready and dodged it. He shouted a whole succession of curses and Harry had to quickly get used to dodging and blocking a wave of different things. But he quickly got the hang of it and slipped in an "Expelliarmus" and Lupin was disarmed.

"Well done, Harry," Dumbledore applauded. "Your professor is an excellent dueler. I'm amazed you can beat him at all, but especially with such apparent ease."

"Oh, it wasn't all that easy, sir," said Harry, catching his breath. Though the magic had been easy, it had sucked the energy from him. It didn't help that Lupin was good, so Harry had had to do a lot of physical ducking and jumping.

"If it weren't easier for you than other students, you would be disarmed by now," Dumbledore pointed out.

Professor McGonagall smirked in satisfaction, obviously pleased that it was a Gryffindor showing such advanced capabilities.

"If you wouldn't mind, Harry, I would like to try dueling you myself," said the headmaster thoughtfully.

Harry's mouth dropped open and the two professors looked equally surprised.

"Sir? There's no way I'd stand a chance against you," Harry protested, but Dumbledore had already exchanged places with Professor Lupin.

"Perhaps not, but the best way to understand a dueler is to experience being his opponent. I want you to try your absolute hardest to disarm me, understand?"

Harry nodded dumbly. On cue, he bowed and hesitantly took up the ready stance.

"Begin!" Lupin announced.

As curses shot at him, Harry could feel the immense power radiating from them. He dodged and blocked, but it was more difficult than before. Where his magic could fling away Lupin's spells with relative ease, it had to push hard against Dumbledore's. He was hit with one that was supposed to make his legs too wobbly to stand, but Harry fought the effects and was left only slightly unbalanced. He shouted the disarming charm, but the headmaster just reflected it right back and Harry had to throw up a shield that almost broke under the impact. He focused harder, forced himself to concentrate and pay absolute attention.

He quickly blocked another curse and, sensing the headmaster pause to say the next curse, Harry breathlessly shouted, "Expelliarmus!" focusing as much power into it as he could muster.

It was his seeker reflexes that made his hand snatch the wand flying toward it. It took him several moments longer to realize what it meant.

He had won.

The three adults stared openly at their student.

Harry felt weak and his eyes dizzily searched for a nearby chair. Lupin seemed to sense the danger and jumped up. He got to Harry just as the boy's legs gave out and caught him as he fell.

"Whoa there, let's get you to a chair."

He summoned one over and Harry slumped into it. Lupin whipped out his ever-ready chocolate, but even after chewing on a piece, Harry felt drained.

"I think that's all I can do for tonight," he apologized.

"Well I'd certainly say so! I can't believe what I just saw!" said Professor McGonagall, shaking her head slowly.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling, "I felt your magic swell while you dueled. The force behind your curses was in the magic itself, not powered by emotion, which is a rare phenomenon. You are an extremely powerful wizard."

Harry blushed, not only at the compliment but also because he knew there was a reason for it he was keeping to himself.

So many secrets.

"Well, I can't always do that. Some days I can do things I can't at other times," he admitted carefully.

"Most curious," Dumbledore mused, but Harry could see he wasn't overly concerned. He seemed too absorbed in what Harry could do rather than why he could do it. "You should rest and we'll explore this further at your next session."

Harry nodded and tiredly lifted his book bag to his shoulder. He left the teachers to talk among themselves.

He trudged back to his dorm and collapsed onto his bed without bothering to change into his pajamas. His books clunked heavily to the ground. He was so thankful he had decided to do this on a Friday. He couldn't fathom starting his homework now. He closed his eyes and was drifting off when the door burst open and light spilled across his face.

He groaned and buried his face into his pillow.

"How was it?" Ron demanded, bouncing onto the edge of Harry's bed. Hermione stood behind him.

"'Mione, you're not supposed to be in here," Harry mumbled into his pillow.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, ignoring his comment.

Harry turned his face to the side so his words were clear. "Fine. Tired."

"Did you beat Lupin again?" Ron asked eagerly.

Harry nodded. "And Dumbledore too."

"What?! You dueled the headmaster?" Hermione squeaked.

"And won?!" Ron echoed enthusiastically.

"I'm sure he went easy on me."

"Wicked!" Ron exclaimed. His eyes went a little wild. "You could take over the school! Banish homework and Potion...and Filch!"

"Congratulations, Harry, you should be proud."

Harry's nose crinkled. "No I shouldn't. I cheated, didn't I? I didn't tell them why I can do all this."

"Being powerful isn't cheating," Hermione said softly. "I think it's wise to be cautious with who you tell about your magic. We should talk about who to discuss it with, but if You-Know-Who comes after you again, I want him to be taken by surprise so you can get away before he lays a finger on you." She seemed to realize how exhausted he was if the motherly look was any indication. "Get some sleep. We'll talk about it in the morning."

Ron leaned in, not quite getting the hint. "Wait, how was dueling with Dumbledore? Did he..."

"Come on, Ron." Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him from the room.

Harry welcomed the return of the dark and silence. It was early and Fridays were always particularly late nights for most; his roommates wouldn't be wandering up for hours yet. He was thankful he would have the chance to fall asleep before his roommates barged in to get ready for bed.

He didn't end up needing so much time to fall asleep. He slipped under the moment he closed his eyes.

And then he dreamed...

 _He stood in a large stone room that struck Harry as cold despite the dozens of torches lining the walls. Harry's eyes followed the line of Death Eaters, all in masks. He wondered if Snape was among them, a spy if Harry had guessed correctly._

 _Two large doors burst open and Harry's scar exploded in pain. He fell to his knees in a twisted parallel to the Death Eaters who kneeled in the presence of their master. Harry clutched his head and looked up. Voldemort swept gracefully down the line of his followers._

 _"It is finally time to announce my return."_

 _The Death Eaters lifted their heads. Harry couldn't see their expressions, but could feel the energy swell feverishly. They were eager about something and knowing some of the sickest minds lay behind those masks, Harry was very worried about what they had planned._

 _"You will find Harry Potter and bring him to me. He will die under_ _ **my**_ _hand and if anyone defies this order, he will face a fate far worse than that silly boy. You may kill any of the faculty except Dumbledore. He too must be captured. I want him to watch his star pupil writhe and scream under my wand. I want Dumbledore to watch his brave little hero beg for death. As for students, no pureblood child will be harmed. After Harry is brought to me, you may dispose of the Mudbloods however you please."_

 _Harry watched in horror. They were going to attack Hogwarts?_

 _"We strike at midnight. Be ready and do not disappoint me."  
Voldemort swooped by. The room began to fade away and Harry was falling._


	13. Chapter 13: Attacks

CHAPTER 13  
ATTACKS

Harry bolted upright, gasping for breath. He swung his legs over the bed and lurched unsteadily toward Ron's bed. But Ron's curtains were open, revealing an empty bed. All his roommates' beds were empty.

He raced down to the common room, nearly slipping on the stone stairs in his haste. Ron and Hermione sat near the fireplace, a game of Wizard's chess between them, but the game was ignored as the two talked in hushed tones. Hermione cast worried glances at the small stack of medical books they'd shoved aside and Ron nodded and sighed. They both looked up in confusion as Harry hurried over.

"What's wrong?" Hermione demanded, jumping up and pressing her hand aggressively against his forehead. "Are you sick? Do you need to go to the hospital wing?"

Harry swatted her hand away. "What time is it?" he asked desperately.

"9:15," Ron provided slowly. "Why?"

Harry glanced around nervously. "Voldemort's going to attack Hogwarts at midnight!" he whispered.

Hermione gaped and Harry knew she was about to start in with a million questions that there wasn't time for, so he turned and ran from the common room toward his Head of House's office. He heard the pounding of footsteps behind him and shouted one-word answers to Hermione's interrogation over his shoulder.

Thankfully, McGonagall was still up grading papers. She looked up in surprise when Harry burst in the door. "Mr. Potter, what in the name of Merlin..."

"Professor, I need to know Dumbledore's office password. Voldemort's attacking Hogwarts _tonight_!"

"What? How do you..."

"Professor please! The password!" he begged. They only had about two and a half hours to somehow prepare against an attack.

"Lemon drop," she said, still looking startled.

Harry nodded in thanks and tore off again, sprinting through the halls, past the gargoyle, and up the spiral staircase until he was at banging on the door to Dumbledore's office. "Professor!"

The door swung open. Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles and upon seeing Harry's grave expression, stepped aside without question. "Come in."

Harry hurried in while Hermione and Ron clambered up the stairs out of breath. The two fell into two chairs while Harry paced.

"I had another dream, Professor. Voldemort was telling the Death Eaters they're to attack Hogwarts at midnight!"

Dumbledore looked at him with a serious expression, then walked around his desk. "Details, Harry."

Harry pulled at his sleeves as he tried to remember. "Um, he said not to harm any purebloods but they're going to kill Muggleborns. I don't know about half-bloods, I don't think he said. They're supposed to find you and me first thing. He wants to torture me in front of you. That's all he said; I don't know anything else."

Ron stared at Harry fearfully while Hermione looked around at Dumbledore. "Hogwarts can stand attack, right?" she asked clutching the edge of his desk. "You can strengthen the wards and we can get the ministry here..."

The door burst open, interrupting her, and several professors followed McGonagall in. Harry noticed Snape was missing. He must have been one of the masked figures in the vision.

Dumbledore explained the situation in a quick, authoritative tone. "We must gather the students. Tell them to bring only their wands and cloaks. They don't have time to change if they're in their nightclothes; they'll just have to go as they are. No student is to be allowed to send an owl; news of this evacuation must not leak. Get them to Hogsmeade and load them on a train towards Beauxbatons, then return immediately. Septima, I'll need you to take temporary charge of the Slytherins. We'll have Hagrid, Aurora, Sybil and Bathsheba go with the students. I'm afraid that's all we can spare. The rest of us must prepare for a confrontation with Voldemort's forces. Go quickly."

The professors scattered. McGonagall shooed Ron and Hermione out of their chairs and toward the door. Harry made to follow.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, "I'm sorry, but you cannot go with your friends."

"What? But Harry has to come with us!" Ron argued, casting a protective look at his friend.

"Do not worry, Mr. Weasley, I will send Harry somewhere safe."

Hermione darted forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Harry. "Be safe. Let them take you away from here, okay? Do _not_ fight them on it, understand?"

"I'll be fine," Harry assured, hugging her back. Though it was a moment of panic, he relished the rare embrace. It somehow made him feel braver about what was to come.

"Don't be stupid, Harry," Ron instructed fiercely as McGonagall ushered Harry's friends out the door.

Under Dumbledore's instruction, Harry helped pump out urgent notices to wizards and witches that could help. Owls swooped in and out of the window, diving steeply down to fly among the trees.

When Dumbledore seemed momentarily finished with talking through the floo, Harry figured he should address the reason he had been kept behind. "Professor, I don't know if I can duel as well as I did in our lesson earlier. It took a lot out of me, but I can still..."

"I'm not keeping you here."

Harry blinked. "Really? But I thought..."

Dumbledore gestured for him to follow and the two walked swiftly from his office. "Harry, my boy, I would never offer you up to Voldemort. I will protect you from that fight as long as I can."

Dumbledore paused a moment to direct a small group of staff. Madam Hooch's yellow eyes were narrowed and she wielded a broom as if she planned to simply beam Voldemort over the head with it. Madam Pince stood, lips pursed, clutching three books to her chest protectively. She spoke quietly and was determined to focus her energies on saving the library, until Dumbledore strictly reminded her that there could be no library without a castle. Madam Pomfrey bustled over, but Dumbledore ordered her to stay out of the fray and to prepare the infirmary. They would need her when the battle was through.

The three women hurried off and Dumbledore returned to his swift pace. Harry followed, feeling a little childish when he had to jog a little to keep up with his headmaster's purposeful stride.

"Why am I here if I'm not supposed to fight?" Harry asked, picking up where they'd left off.

"I'm sending you home. I've arranged the Portkey."

Harry paled and his step faltered. "The Dursleys? But why?"

"There are protection spells at your home that disguise your location. If Voldemort sensed you on that train, I fear he would be lured there."

"But Professor, I can help!" Harry pleaded. "Maybe I can duel as well as earlier and if not, I'm still pretty good. If I could beat you and Professor Lupin, it makes sense to keep me _here_! Maybe I could stand off in the shadows and cast spells or something!"

"Absolutely not," Dumbledore said with a frown. "I will not put you at that risk."

Harry was about to protest when McGonagall ran up, her cheeks flushed and her hair coming loose from her normally strict bun. "The students are on the train."

"Good. Now I need you to take Mr. Potter back to his relatives' home. Harry, you are not to leave that house until a Hogwarts professor comes to get you, is that understood?"

Harry sighed. "Yes sir."

Dumbledore turned to address the Hogwarts' ghosts and a gaggle of house elves.

McGonagall cast Harry a worried glance. "Come along, Potter. Portkeys will only work out on the grounds."

Harry reluctantly jogged along after as his head of house walked swiftly through the corridors. Things were fast becoming chaotic. Aurors ran by with severe expressions and pressed uniforms. The rest of the ragtag group of protectors didn't look quite as prepared. One man had his robes on inside out and another still wore his nightcap.

Distracted by the commotion, Harry almost collided with someone.

"Harry! Why haven't you left with the other students?" Mr. Weasley exclaimed in concern. His three oldest sons stood behind him. Bill patted his father on the shoulder and hurried off, presumably to help with the wards. Charlie cast Harry a quick, crooked smile, looking almost excited to fight. Percy stood up straight and proper, ignoring Harry and trying to look important.

"I have to go to the Dursleys," Harry said unhappily.

"Good," Mr. Weasley nodded. "We've got to keep you safe."

McGonagall put a hand on Harry's shoulder and urged him to come along. Harry looked back at Mr. Weasley. "Be careful, okay?" he called anxiously.

Professor McGonagall pushed through crowd, pulling Harry with her. Her robe flowed behind as she hurried down the stairs to the grounds and it reminded Harry suddenly that he had fallen asleep in his school uniform. He winced. His uncle wasn't going to be pleased.

His stomach dropped when his professor pulled out a ratty old tome that was obviously the portkey, but memories of the fourth task didn't have time to creep in before the book was thrust into his hand and he felt the familiar tug at his navel.

When everything stopped spinning, Harry reluctantly opened his eyes and peeled his white-knuckled grip from the book. Rows of identical houses loomed before him. Privet Drive. The cold perfection made him long for the Burrow.

McGonagall marched right up to the Dursley's front door. Her knuckles rapped against the wood loudly and Harry sighed. Uncle Vernon was _not_ going to like this.

The door swung open. In seeing who it was standing on his front porch, Vernon's expression turned murderous. He glanced around at the neighboring houses as if he expected the inhabitants to be peering through their windows, just waiting for something odd to gossip about in the morning.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed. "It's the middle of the bloody night!"

McGongall frowned at Vernon's crass language, but was, as usual, all business. "Our school is under attack. Harry will have to stay here until it is safe. Do _not_ let him leave the house until a professor comes to pick him up."

Vernon barely had time to sputter a protest before McGonagall shot Harry one last stern look of warning and hurried away, disapparating at the edge of the wards.

Harry peered up at his angry guardian. "I'm sorry but all the students had to leave! It was an emergency!"

"Shut up." Vernon grabbed his collar and pulled him inside. Harry stumbled over the threshold. When the door closed, Vernon grabbed a handful of Harry's hair, dragged him to the cupboard under the stairs and tossed him in.

Harry massaged the ache in his scalp as the small door slammed closed and the lock snapped into place. Vernon's heavy footfalls clomped up the stairs and dust cascaded down onto Harry's head. He brushed the debris off the cot he had outgrown and lay down. His feet hung uncomfortably over the edge so he curled up his legs and pulled a small, ratty blanket over himself.

Staring at the wall, Harry's mind raced through every possible outcome of the impending fight. Nearly half the Weasley family was there and losing them would be more than Harry could bear.

He shook away the thought.

He turned onto his back and stared at the spider webs on the ceiling. _They'll be fine. They're prepared. They have the advantage._

As time wore on, Harry's eyes slipped closed. It seemed so inappropriate to fall asleep when a country away, everything he cared about was about to be battled for, but his earlier dueling exercise had drained his energy. The adrenaline rush that had kept him animated during the last couple hours was quickly dissipating.

He fought against the pull, but his eyelids eventually refused to wrench back open.

-

 _He was at Hogwarts, standing outside the front doors. The whole castle was silent and dark._

 _An unsettling shiver tickled his neck and he turned around to see a tall, cloaked figure walking purposefully and confidently up the path, followed by a mob of hooded Death Eaters. Harry's scar throbbed, announcing the obvious._

 _As they drew closer, the group fanned out, some rushing off to the sides of the castle, no doubt to cover the major escape routes. The majority, however, continued toward the front door with their leader. Voldemort was apparently feeling a growing need for dramatic displays._

 _Harry followed uncertainly, nervous at the proximity though he knew no one could see him._

 _Voldemort raised his wand to the sky and hissed, "Morsmordre." Harry scowled at the hateful symbol that cast the green glow of death across the grounds._

 _The front doors burst open and Harry hurried inside, running through bodies without even a tingle to prove he was real. He could see nothing in the dark hall. It was so lifeless, Harry started worrying that Dumbledore hadn't pulled the defense together in time and had ordered everyone out of Hogwarts._

 _Voldemort marched into the front hall, his Death Eaters eagerly following. The blue glow from their wands barely lit their way and cast every nook into shadows. Harry wanted desperately to call out to announce their arrival, but it was pointless. This was a vision, nothing more. No one would hear him._

 _"Remember, the Potter boy is mine. Bring him to me alive," Voldemort coldly reminded his followers._

 _Suddenly, with a rushing sound, a flame flared in every torch along the entranceway, illuminating the hall. As the alcoves and niches filled with orange light, a very different sort of army was revealed. Aurors, professors, house elves and civilians surrounded the masked figures. Dobby was there, socks hanging off his ears and holding three small paring knives in one hand, a skewer in the other. Harry spotted the man in his nightcap wielding his wand without a trace of fear on his face. Even Madam Pince could be seen, practically growling in determination to make sure no book in the castle would come to harm. Harry felt a surge of pride for their ragtag numbers._

 _Dumbledore emerged from the ranks. Harry thought he looked like an epic hero, much steadier and more confident than Harry could ever be._

 _"None of my students will be at your mercy tonight, Tom."_

 _Voldemort trembled with rage. "AVADA KEDAVRA," he snarled, thrusting out his wand. Green light flew toward Dumbledore. The headmaster conjured a bird to take the blow so the curse wouldn't hit those behind him._

 _The others took this as their signal and charged. Death Eaters and light wizards rushed each other, shouting spells. The hall lit up with flashes of color and house elves attacked the ankles of the intruders with kitchen objects. One smashed a Death Eater's foot with a frying pan and Lucius Malfoy had to stop to pluck out Dobby's three paring knives out of his shoe. Peeves swooped low, cackling as he threw dungbombs at the enemies. The ghosts flew into the faces of Voldemort's ranks, blurring their views. The Aurors attacked in coordinated formations, though Madam Hooch was equally effective having abandoned her wand and chosen to join a few villagers in beating one of the cowering Death Eaters with brooms and gardening hoes. A few spells shot straight through Harry's chest, sending a shiver up his spine despite his being unable to feel a thing._

 _Harry frowned as he crept closer to the main fight. He noticed that the killing curse was not among the impressive spells Dumbledore fired off and Harry was slightly annoyed. If Dumbledore could just defeat Voldemort now, Harry wouldn't have to figure out how to do it in his short time left. Then again, Hagrid had once told Harry that Voldemort wasn't human enough to die so maybe even Avada Kedavra wouldn't do the trick._

 _Harry followed Dumbledore and Voldemort, watching closely as they battled, looking for any clue on how to defeat the monster. They passed Mr. Weasley fighting a Death Eater and Harry paused to watch a moment. The Weasley patriarch stunned the masked figure and Harry punched the air in victory before rushing back over to Dumbledore, feeling elated at the small triumph._

 _"The students aren't here!" a masked figure yelled to his master, running in from another door. "None of them!"_

 _With a cry of fury, Voldemort turned and shot the Cruciatus curse at Mr. Weasley, who had tried sneaking up on the evil maniac during the distraction. Several Death Eaters attacked Dumbledore while their master punished Ron's dad for the attempted assault._

 _Harry watched in horror as Mr. Weasley screamed and writhed on the ground. Charlie ran toward his father, but a beam of purple light hit his chest and he fell to his knees, seemingly unable to breathe until someone disarmed his attacker. Charlie was left passed out on the floor and Percy was stunned when he tried to drag his brother out of harm's way. People tried to help but the Death Eaters' highest priority was in protecting Voldemort._

 _Harry watched helplessly, growing increasingly panicked as the spell dragged on. Less than a year ago, he'd felt the Cruciatus curse for only a moment. He couldn't imagine the agony of having it stretch on this long._

 _"STOP IT! STOP!" he screamed. He knew his cries could do nothing but he couldn't help himself as he watched the man who was always so eager to ask Harry about plugs and airplanes begin to claw at his own chest in anguish. "LEAVE HIM ALONE!"_

 _A change came over Voldemort's face, his expression melting from fury into confusion. Harry stared as Voldemort's wand hand seemed to slowly wrench to the side. Once the wand's tip no longer pointed at Mr. Weasley, the curse ended and the balding man was left barely conscious. Bill raced up, grabbed his father under the armpits and pulled him up and back. He cast a spell at his father's tormentor, but Voldemort flung it away distractedly. He stared hard at his hand._

 _Suddenly, comprehension dawned over the snake-like visage._

 _"Potter!" he hissed, looking around wildly. Harry's eyes widened in surprise and he took an automatic step back._

 _The action in the room momentarily paused. Death Eaters looked around, ready to grab Voldemort's intended prize. The Aurors and villagers took advantage and took a few down. The distraction of the professors' was even greater, terrified as they were that a student could still be vulnerable. Harry watched in horror as Professor McGonagall took a hit while her head whipped around, frantically searching for her student. Harry couldn't believe it. She had been the one to drop him off! She should have known he wasn't there! She hit the ground and Harry ran toward her._

 _Voldemort summoned a shield around himself and seemed to concentrate hard on something. Harry knelt by his house head's side. There was a gash along her ribcage, but she was still breathing._

 _Unexpectedly, Harry's scar erupted in terrible pain. He dug his fingernails into his scalp and crumbled fully to the floor, thrashing and twisting on the ground. A terrible scream erupted from his throat._

 _It ended as abruptly as it had begun. Harry gulped in shaky breaths and climbed to his feet wondering what in the world had just happened. He was startled to find everyone looking around in confusion. Bill Weasley and Professor Flitwick both called his name and urgently yelled that he get out of there._

 _"So you are here, Potter. Not physically, no, but somehow, you're here," Voldemort muttered, cocking his head to the side in interest. He snapped out of it and looked to Dumbledore. "There is no point in staying tonight, but I assure you, old man, that next time, I will get what I came for."_

 _He then reached into his robes and grabbed a small pendant. The Death Eaters scrambled to follow his example and they all portkeyed away._

Harry woke with a jolt. It took him a moment to remember where he was until his eyes adjusted and could make out the palest line of moonlight coming from under the door.

He heaved a sigh of relief, dragging his hands over his sweaty face. They had won. Voldemort had been completely taken by surprise.

But what had happened with his connection with Voldemort? What did it mean? Obviously, it was the cancer at work, messing around with his magic and stretching it in ways it was never meant to be stretched. But he remained nervous. His connection with Voldemort was one of the things that was apparently strengthening and Harry wasn't sure if it would help him destroy Voldemort, or help Voldemort destroy _him_.

-

The next morning, Harry snapped awake at a harsh banging on his cupboard door. It was thrown open as Harry maneuvered himself off of his cot and Aunt Petunia thrust some of Dudley's old clothes into his hands.

"Change out of those... _things_ right now," she spat. She stalked away to the kitchen, lips pursed in bottled fury.

Harry sighed and changed in the cramped space, banging his knee hard against a shelf with cleaning materials on it. He folded his robes up neatly and eyed them mournfully as he pulled on Dudley's huge, ratty shirt. Somehow it felt like he was turning in his magic. He slipped his wand into the pocket of Dudley's old pants. There. He wasn't turning it in; he was just putting it into hiding for a day or two. He could do it.

As much as his aunt and uncle complained about having him around the house, they certainly didn't waste the opportunity. Harry cooked them both breakfast and was given a list of chores so long it seemed they hadn't cleaned since he had last been home. Some of the instructions would bring him to the front yard and, remembering McGonagall's warning, Harry began to protest but he shut his mouth when he saw his uncle surreptitiously slip whisky into his coffee.

He'd rather take on Voldemort than anger his uncle.

As he pulled the hose out to water the flowerbeds, he hoped the Stensons didn't catch sight of him. It would be far too painful to protest that he couldn't stay when all he could think about was running away to their house.

Harry's stomach gurgled miserably as he rolled up his sleeves. He hoped a professor would fetch him soon. The hunger pains were always the worst in the first few days back at Number 4.

His uncle went to work late and his car nearly knocked over the mailbox in his rush. Harry kept his head down and glared at the flowers. How his uncle still had a job when he was drunk every morning was a mystery.

Harry walked on eggshells all day, keeping his head down and doing what he was told. He hadn't forgotten his aunt's betrayal the last time he was home and didn't trust her not to report a transgression back to her violent husband.

Vernon was late getting home that evening. Aunt Petunia watched the clock with an anxious frown. She bustled around, trying to pretend she didn't notice the time, so Harry pretended he didn't notice either. The dinner Harry cooked grew cold and, on his aunt's orders, he simply stood in the kitchen, waiting to begin reheating as soon as Vernon's car entered the driveway.

Aunt Petunia walked in and out, growing more agitated. Harry leaned against the counter, keeping his expression neutral, but his stomach sank as the minute hand crept around the clock face. He and his aunt both knew where Vernon was.

"It's because of _you_ ," Aunt Petunia accused in a low, hateful voice. She refused to look at him.

Harry looked at her darkly. "Right," he muttered skeptically, "he only goes to bars when I'm home then?"

Aunt Petunia's eyes whipped to his and her nose scrunched up in anger. She reached him in two strides and brought her hand across his cheek with a sharp crack. Harry didn't make a sound. His aunt's hand was nothing compared to her husband's.

She poked a finger at him and spoke in that same low tone. "It _is_ because of you."

She turned to walk away and Harry felt his anger swell. "You're just going to let him hurt me again!" he erupted before he could stop himself. He felt so betrayed. He knew that didn't make sense, his aunt had never felt any love for him, but he knew that when Vernon got home, Aunt Petunia was going to let him take his anger out on her nephew and it just seemed so unfair. "That last time, I could have run, but I stayed to protect you and Dudley like you've _never_ done for me, and you did _nothing_ when he threw me through that table!"

Harry's breathing was heavy and his throat stung. He hoped he looked angry and not like he was blinking back tears. He refused to ever let any of the Dursleys see him cry. He stepped back and gripped the counter. Speaking more softly, he said, "If I could make things better, I would."

Aunt Petunia didn't look at him, but her whole body was stiff. Harry stared, surprised his outburst might have actually affected her. He had expected only to be screamed at, maybe hit again; he had never expected to strike a nerve.

The sound of crunching tires in the driveway broke the moment and Harry slumped back against the counter in defeat. He numbly turned on the stove burners. Aunt Petunia smoothed out her dress and went to greet her husband.

The china shook in its cabinet as the front door slammed. Harry's grip on the stirring spoon tightened.

"WHERE IS HE?"

Vernon burst into the kitchen so quickly Harry didn't have time to think about a defense. His uncle's clothes were rumpled. His jacket was gone and one side of his shirt was un-tucked. He stumbled and cursed, then locked his glazed eyes onto his nephew.

Harry backed into the counter. His mouth opened and closed in attempt to protest his case, but of course, there was nothing to say.

"MY JOB!" Vernon roared. He grabbed a pan off the burner and hurled it at Harry's feet. Noodles, vegetables and sauce sprayed across the floor. "You made me lose MY JOB!"

Remembering his thoughts on the subject from that morning, for a moment, Harry was convinced he _had_ somehow caused Vernon to lose his job.

Vernon grabbed a pot of mashed potatoes and this time aimed it at Harry's head, his motives switching from general destruction to taking his frustration out on his nephew in particular. Harry jerked to the side just in time, sputtering a protest. "But, I didn't..."

"LIAR!" Vernon grabbed the front of Harry's shirt and threw him to the floor, right into the spilt food. Harry's hands slipped around in the mess as he tried to scoot back and get to his feet.

"I didn't do anything, I swear!" he choked. His supporting hand jerked out from under him when Vernon yanked him forward by his ankles. He flipped over and clawed at the kitchen floor, trying to kick out, but his ankles were held fast.

Vernon let go and Harry didn't pause to see why. He lurched to his feet and started forward, but hands grabbed the back of his shirt and swung him to the side. Losing his balance, Harry's head hit the edge of the counter and he crumpled to his knees, dazed.

"I didn't do it!" he gasped. "I didn't! I swear!"

"Vernon! Wait," Aunt Petunia cried out uncertainly. Harry's heart leapt hopefully but Vernon ignored her.

Vernon grabbed a handful of Harry's dark hair and dragged him into the center of the kitchen. As Harry's legs scrambled to find purchase, something jabbed into his thigh.

With a flash of clarity, he remembered his wand. Without pausing for a moment to consider stealth, Harry's hand jammed into his pocket and pulled out his only weapon.

"Stup-"

The word was interrupted by a yelp as Vernon yanked Harry's head back painfully. The wand tugged in his hand and Harry held on as tight as he could, but Vernon wrenched it away and threw it toward the kitchen door where Aunt Petunia was backed against the wall, her hands cupped over her mouth in alarm. Harry twisted his head violently, trying to loosen his uncle's grip.

He needed his wand.

Vernon let go of his hair and started to walk around him for a new angle of attack. Harry dove in Aunt Petunia's direction. Unable to get up off his stomach with time so urgent, he reached out along the floor toward his wand. His fingers just brushed the wood when Vernon stomped brutally on his hand.

Harry cried out. His eyes clenched shut and for a moment he was unable to think of anything but the searing pain. Vernon pulled him back to the center of the kitchen and his wand was left lying hopelessly out of reach at Aunt Petunia's feet.

-

Back at Hogwarts, wizards milled about repairing damages as the sun fell beyond the horizon. The front hall had been hit the hardest, of course, but other areas also sported damages from the Death Eaters who had made their way in from other entrances. The wards needed the most attention. They had to be repaired but, more importantly, had to be changed and strengthened so that Voldemort no longer held the key to the castle.

Though everyone was tired, spirits were high. They had won. The children were safe. Their side had suffered no casualties and the injured parties had been patched up and were making swift recoveries at their homes. They had even caught a few Death Eaters who were now being questioned at the ministry. Perhaps most exciting was the gossip about the Boy Who Lived, who seemed to have a mysterious power that could possibly be used to end this war.

Severus Snape stalked through the main hall, robes billowing behind him. He ignored the cheerful greeting of Professor Flitwick. He was exhausted and his whole body ached something fierce. Voldemort had been distracted by whatever had happened with Potter, but had still doled out punishment for the embarrassing defeat.

For once, at least, he hadn't spent the whole meeting fearful he would be found out as a traitor. Having been unable to get warning to Hogwarts in time, Snape had been prepared for a horrifying catastrophe. The relief that filled him when Dumbledore's ambush was revealed was indescribable. He didn't know how he could have handled the weight on his conscience if a student had been killed.

He briefed Dumbledore grumpily in one of the wrecked halls, thankful the headmaster didn't yet know what the strange incident between Potter and Voldemort meant. Snape was eager for a bath and a meal and, for now, that took precedent over curiosity.

"If that will be all..." he said hopefully.

Dumbledore smiled paternally. "Yes, yes. Go join our recuperating ranks. But tomorrow, I hope you will be able to run a small errand for me. Poppy requests Minerva not travel magically in the next week, so I wonder if you might pick up Harry from his relatives' home."

Snape stared at him. "Potter is not with the other students? You sent him _home_?"

"Yes. I apologize for the inconvenience," Dumbledore replied, misinterpreting the disgruntled look on Snape's face. A knock on the door sounded and an Auror entered. Dumbledore cast Snape a final smile and patted his shoulder as he passed. "Tomorrow, Severus. Harry can wait. Tonight, just rest." Dumbledore left with the Auror and Severus stared after them for a moment.

"Shit," Snape muttered and started back toward the castle's entrance.

-

Flinging his arms over his face didn't do much to block Uncle Veron's blows. Blood was pouring from Harry's nose and the right lens of his glasses was completely shattered. He kept waiting for Vernon to run out of energy and go pass out somewhere, but the man's anger only seemed to grow.

A sickening flash of pain flared from his knee and Harry howled in pain. He tried to jerk his leg out from under his uncle's heavy foot and the enormous man stumbled forward with a grunt, landing heavily against the counter.

Every movement was difficult now, but Harry knew he had to try for his wand. He looked over through his broken glasses and stilled. Aunt Petunia stood in the doorway, face pale, holding his wand.

She stared at him, her eyes filled with tears. Her eyes flickered to her husband who was righting himself, raving. The heavy man moved toward a whisky bottle sitting on the counter, tucked back against the wall.

The delicate hand holding his wand jerked toward him but then pulled back, reconsidering. Harry looked at his aunt desperately. She took a hesitant step forward and started to hold out the wand, but when Vernon turned around, she stepped back and clutched the piece of wood to her chest.

"Aunt Petunia," Harry whispered, terrified. "Please. Help me."

His aunt ducked her head and made no more move toward him.

Vernon looked from his nephew to the wand in his wife's hand.

"You drive the stake through the heart," he muttered to himself, eyes bloodshot and crazed. "That's how you've always got to do it!"

Harry's head whipped toward his uncle at those words. His eyes widened when Uncle Vernon turned back around holding one of the sharp knives from the wooden block on the counter. Harry tried to claw his way backward, not even feeling the pain in his knee through his terror.

Aunt Petunia reeled back. "VERNON, NO!"

But it was too late.

Harry tried to twist away, but Vernon grabbed his shoulder and pinned him to the floor. Harry heard his aunt begin to scream as Vernon took clumsy aim and plunged the knife deep into his nephew's stomach.


	14. Chapter 14: Rescue

A/N: 9-9-9 is the emergency telephone number in England.

CHAPTER 14  
RESCUE

Harry's mouth dropped open in shock but he couldn't scream. There was screaming, though, somewhere. It reminded him of his encounters with the dementors, except these faraway screams didn't fill him with guilt and horror-he didn't feel much of anything about them at all.

Harry swallowed and blinked. His vision was blurred as he stared up at the kitchen light. It seemed so bright, searing in its intensity, like staring into the sun. The light was yellow and warm and looking at it made everything seem strangely still...almost peaceful.

Aunt Petunia's head suddenly eclipsed the light-she screamed frantically into his face-and suddenly the pain seemed so much more real. He couldn't move, couldn't curl into a ball like he normally did during beatings. Usually he found comfort in knowing the pain had to eventually end-Vernon would get tired or Harry would pass out, but before he knew it, he'd be blinking awake to the morning sun and while it might still hurt, the immediate fear would be gone. It would be okay. But this time, Harry couldn't see it being okay and without the comforting glow of the light, he grew scared.

"Oh God. Oh _God_!" Aunt Petunia reached her hand out to touch Harry's cheek, but jerked back before her fingers brushed his skin. "Vernon, what have you DONE?" she screeched.

Harry was too overwhelmed with just trying to breathe to focus on anything more than a foot away from him, which included his uncle's response.

He felt Aunt Petunia trying to push something into his hand as she sobbed and it took Harry a long moment to realize the object was his wand. It was useless to him now. He didn't know a spell to fix this and he didn't have the strength for even the simplest magic. Instead, he looked into Aunt Petunia's face as she cried that she was sorry. He opened his mouth and, with great difficulty, rasped, "Call..." He shut his eyes and emitted a small whimper at the pain, but wrenched his eyelids back open and pushed forward, "9-9-" The last 9 came out as a gurgling sound and Harry tasted something coppery at the back of his mouth.

Aunt Petunia reared back, staring at him. "9-9-9?" she whispered. She looked over at the phone on the wall like it was something she never considered. She shook her head, slowly at first, then frantically. "I can't," she gasped. "I can't. Not the police. They'd arrest him...they'd arrest _us_. And Dudley would be alone and...I'm so sorry." She stood, still shaking her head, and slowly backed away.

Harry stopped feeling afraid then...he just felt empty. There was no hope then, just the wait for it to end. With the very last of his energy, he turned his gaze back upward so his vision could once more fill with the yellow light. If all he thought about was the light, he wouldn't have to spend his last moments listening to his aunt and uncle fight about hiding his body.

He could hear a door banging against the wall. He thought there might be even more voices, louder than before...maybe the telly. He didn't mind the noise so much anymore. It was all in the background and it all blurred into something almost comfortable. He felt safe. There wasn't anything more they could do to him. Everything besides the warm, yellow light was already fading away.

The second time his sun was eclipsed, Harry only felt vague annoyance and then confusion. It didn't make sense, but Snape's worried face hovered over his, shouting something at him. The light glowed from behind him, haloing around his head. He looked like an angel except that his black hair fell down in curtains around his face...a dark, shadowy angel, then. It was almost comforting in its bizarreness that Harry's vision of an angel of death was Snape...if only the angel would stop yelling right in his face.

Harry tried to tell him he couldn't understand, but only managed to blink and emit a tiny gurgling sound. He dimly felt Snape cover him in some thick material and tuck it around him. It was how he'd always imagined a parent might tuck him into bed and his eyes slipped closed, feeling relaxed. He doubted this was real, but it was nice. Like he was just going to sleep.

Suddenly, he was lifted. If he could have screamed, that would have been the time, for agony seared through his body. His head momentarily flopped to the side and he could see the kitchen floor dropping away. An impossibly wide puddle of blood spread over the cheap vinyl floor, reaching out in fingers to drown more and more of the faint, yellow flower pattern in dark red.

The last thing he would remember was being pressed up against a warm chest and though he had never felt so much pain, Harry found it more comforting than even the glow of the kitchen light.

-

Snape swept through the main gates of Hogwarts, anxiously glancing down at the boy in his arms. Potter was pale except for the deep red painting the corner of his mouth and splashed up his neck. He was still breathing, but it was faint...far too faint.

Quickening his step, Snape concentrated hard and whispered one of the only wandless spells he'd mastered over the years: an invisibility charm. It wasn't perfect and often wavered when he moved, but it should obscure them well enough until he made it to the hospital wing. Snape wasn't a good man, but he would do all he could to protect the boy's dignity. The boy didn't deserve this sort of headline. When someone passing in the hall turned and stared wide-eyed at the floor, Snape realized Potter's blood had soaked through the heavy cloak Snape had wrapped him in and they were leaving a trail of drops. He began to sprint.

Thankfully, the infirmary was nearly emptied of patients and the only one awake was Minerva. The woman sat on the edge of a bed, arguing with Poppy in low tones, with a hand pressed to her ribcage. Snape dropped the invisibility charm and the two women looked over as he gently lowered Potter onto the nearest bed.

"Harry!" Minerva gasped. She pushed herself from the bed and stumbled over. Poppy was already there, wand out and peeling off the bloody wrap to inspect the problem. There was so much blood, Poppy was uncharacteristically flustered but then shook her head to regain her senses and jumped right into action. She shouted spells, most at Potter and some over her shoulder that made bottles fly out of their cabinets, uncork themselves and begin measuring and mixing themselves in beakers. Numbers flashed in angry red above Potter's body.

"What happened?" Minerva demanded wildly, staring open-mouthed down at her student, her plaid nightcap askew. "He was with his relatives! I told him not to leave!" She paled. "Voldemort. Tha-that _connection_ that happened! I should have checked on him! How could that have caused _this_?"

"It didn't. This was his uncle's doing," Snape said darkly.

Another patient, Charlie Weasley, stirred in his corner bed and sat up, squinting over to see what the commotion was. Snape shot a sleep charm at him and the man slumped back into his bed. Seeing a few of the wing's inhabitants were Weasley men, Snape quickly ensured no one would wake up for the rest of the night or walk in unannounced.

"His uncle?" Minerva repeated faintly. "I _left_ him with his uncle." She pressed a knuckle to her brow and shook her head. "No, no. You're mistaken Severus. There is no reason this should have happened."

Now that Potter's life was in obvious peril, the school's confidentiality rule snapped and Snape could finally speak about what he had learned. "Potter's uncle was dangerously abusive-a heavy drinker." He gritted his teeth. "When I got there, his aunt was just watching him bleed out. She could have called the Muggle authorities or tried to stop the bleeding, but she did nothing!" He barked a bitter laugh. "And her husband was pouring himself a drink."

"Severus," Poppy snapped, "I need blood. B negative or O negative. It's in the storage room."

Snape gave a single nod and hurried to the back room. The situation must be dire if spells and potions couldn't replenish the blood fast enough on their own. Snape opened the icy cabinet and a white puff of mist poured out. He grabbed a bag of B negative, the only one of that rare type. Warming it with a quick spell, he swept back into the main room where Poppy snatched it from his hands as she bustled around Potter's bed.

While Poppy set the bag up, pinning it to thin air with a jab of her wand, Snape's eye was drawn to Minerva who had gone pale staring at her student. The Gryffindor head of house turned her head away when Poppy stuck a needle into Potter's arm and taped it down. Snape walked over to his colleague and put a hand on her upper arm.

"Don't you dare tell me to get back into that bed, Severus," she warned. "He's my student."

"Albus needs to be informed," Snape said.

Minerva didn't take the bait and instead called a house elf. One popped up instantly and nodded eagerly at the instructions to fetch the headmaster but to make sure he came alone. Once the small creature popped off, Minerva looked to Severus in defiance. "I won't leave him. Not again."

"This wasn't your fault."

"I should have noticed." She was trying to look collected, but Snape noticed her chin quivering. "He didn't want to go home."

Minerva simply stared at Harry's face while Poppy clinically examined his wounds, waved her wand around the blood and the bruises, and banished potions from vials into the bag of blood that slowly flowed down the dark red tube. Snape watched in stony fashion until she got to the boy's fingers, impossibly swollen and not curling quite naturally. When she gingerly lifted that purpling hand, Snape's eyes darted away. There was something about that crippled hand-that he could only imagine as crushed as the boy reached out for some kind of help-that brought a chill to his spine.

Finally, Poppy wiped the blood off her hands and the sweat off her brow, then turned to deliver her report. "In addition to the stab wound, which nearly killed him, he suffered a broken nose, a break and several fractures around his right knee and extensive damage to his left hand. He'll make a full recovery, physically at least, but it will take a few days."

Snape's eyes slipped to Potter's "damaged" hand. It was now, thankfully, heavily bandaged in white. Poppy had yet to magically change the boy into regulation pajamas, but she had pulled a blanket up to his armpits, leaving his pale arms lying limp above the blanket. The outer sides of forearms were littered with injuries and Snape didn't need Poppy's report to tell him that the patterns showed the boy had been blocking his face. Not that it had done the job; his nose had a white bandage stuck over the bridge but the purple bruise spread out from underneath halfway across his cheeks. Tiny cuts from his broken glasses littered the area around his eyes, but thankfully they were shallow. If any of that glass had pressed in more deeply...well, Snape wouldn't dwell upon dark possibilities.

What disgusted him most, as bizarre as it seemed, was the food caught in the boy's hair. Poppy had cleaned most of it off his skin, but around his hairline there was some congealed sauce and bits of what looked like mashed potato. The boy looked like he'd gone up against Voldemort and barely managed to escape, but that food was a sharp reminder of the more disturbing nature of the crime.

"The worst of his internal injuries need to heal before I can use magic to work on the surface injuries, the stab wound obviously being the most critical. The deeper work will take a few days and by then some of the other injuries may need to heal on their own. We'll have to wait and see."

"His privacy must be protected," Minerva said quietly. "We cannot let someone see him like this and have a leak to the press."

Knowing Poppy as well as he did, Snape expected the woman to huff that she was well aware of that and could take care of her patients as she'd done through the decades she had worked in this wing, but instead, Poppy simply nodded and with a twirl of her wand, privacy screens flew to surround Potter's bed. "Is there anyone we can inform who the boy can turn to for emotional support? Someone he can talk to?"

They all turned in alarm as someone appeared in the doorway, but lowered their guard when Dumbledore approached.

He smiled and put a hand on Snape's shoulder. "Severus, my boy, I thought you were going to relax for the evening." He then looked to Minerva. "I apologize for the delay in responding to your summons. I'm afraid I was in the middle of a rather complicated ward construction. I assume I am here to settle a debate about leaving the infirmary without the blessing of our esteemed medi-witch?"

Instead of answering, Poppy slowly pulled back the curtain.

The twinkle abruptly vanished from the headmaster's eye and his face set into something dangerous. He stepped forward, his eyes scanning Potter's face, his arms, the medical equipment. "What happened?" he demanded.

"Potter was being abused," Snape said bluntly. "His uncle attacked him tonight."

"He was stabbed, Albus," Poppy added, eyes flashing in anger.

For the first time, Snape witness Dumbledore look startled. Nothing ever caught the old man by surprise but Snape supposed if Dumbledore had ever thought there was even a remote possibility of something like this he would never have left the boy there.

"How did you know, Severus?" Dumbledore asked. "From the blood on your skin, I assume you're the one who found him."

Snape looked down. Dumbledore was right: though his clothes were black and hid the stains, dried blood stained his long, pale hands, caking around his fingernails. The sight made him feel ill.

Keeping his features unreadable, Snape relayed everything he knew with the same unemotional tone he used for reporting on Death Eater meetings. As he spoke, Minerva walked around the bed and sunk down next to Potter. Her hand covered her student's as she listened, as if Potter could find support in the gesture despite being oblivious to the retelling of his nightmare.

Dumbledore stood and listened. His eyes were hard but by the time Snape finished, there was something about the headmaster's face that just looked weary. "It appears we need to alter the confidentiality clause." He sighed. "Did you do anything to his relatives, Severus?"

"There was no time. I needed to get Potter out of there." He raised an eyebrow. "If you would like me to pay them a visit now, however..."

"I will deal with them myself," Dumbledore said, his eyes flashing with menace. In that moment, Snape thought the Dursley family might have more reason to fear Dumbledore than Voldemort did. He started toward the door.

"Albus," Snape called, "he has a Muggle family he's close to. They know about the situation with his family; they know he's a wizard. I believe the name is Stenson if you think Potter needs support."

The headmaster nodded. "Thank you, Severus. That is a most thoughtful suggestion."

Snape cleared his throat. "It was Minerva's idea, not mine," he clarified gruffly.

Albus smiled and it might have reached his eyes if they weren't already so filled with sadness and anger. "Of course."

After he left, Snape's eyes fell to Minerva who was staring at the floor, her wrinkled hand still wrapped over Potter's. "I should have seen it. Skinny, short, quiet for his age, especially when he first started here. Not wanting attention drawn to him. Latching onto Hagrid, who he sees as having first rescued him from them. I knew they weren't a good sort when we dropped him off all those years ago and I still didn't see it."

"None of us saw it, dear," Poppy comforted.

"He didn't even come to me for help." Minerva looked to Snape. "Despite your volatile relationship with him, he went to you. Clearly I didn't make him feel as if he could come to me."

"He didn't approach me out of trust," Snape corrected. "He only approached me because he thought I would give him potions without asking questions." Without saying goodbye, he swept toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Poppy demanded.

Snape halted and turned. "My part in this fiasco is done. As long as no one foolishly sends the boy back, I consider the situation resolved." Poppy opened her mouth to lecture but he stalked off before she could.

The problem was finally out of his hands. Now the boy had other confidantes and could leave him in peace.

-

"...poor dear...those rotten Muggles...if I could get my hands on...wand right up their..."

Voices swam in and out of Harry's consciousness-mostly one voice, which he slowly recognized as Madam Pomfrey's. Something about that seemed off, but he didn't want to think about it...he was so tired. He just wanted to slip back into the comfortable darkness.

"I think he's coming around! Harry, dear? Come on now, love, open your eyes."

With great difficulty, Harry forced his eyelids open and though he managed it, they opened with an embarrassingly weak flutter. A face hovered above him. It was blurry until his glasses were slipped on his face and Madam Pomfrey's face became clearer, though he could still only view it through half-lidded eyes.

Harry swallowed hard and opened his mouth. "What..." His voice came out in a whispery croak and immediately failed him after the one word. Something told him not to bother remembering, to just go back to sleep like he desperately desired. Yet his curious side went down that dark path before he could stop it.

The first thing he remembered was his aunt holding his wand and looking afraid. For a moment, that was all he remembered. The image froze there and he felt sorry for his aunt, protective even.

But then, the rest came rushing back in flashes: the smell of alcohol, his uncle throwing the food, his aunt keeping his wand from him, his hand, his knee, the knife, his aunt shaking her head to his plea for help, the yellow light and lastly, Snape's shadowy face lined with shock and worry. That image was so bizarre it stayed longer than the others. Harry wondered if it was even real.

He shut his eyes and turned his head to the side, away from the concerned medi-witch. "No..." The moan escaped his lips without thought. Everyone knew. They had to know. He couldn't lie his way out of this after what his uncle did. He just wanted to sleep and not deal with this and have everyone just leave him alone.

"Poor dear." Harry felt Madam Pomfrey brush a thumb over his forehead and he flinched at the unexpected touch. Her hand faltered, but then smoothed back the hair at his temple. Harry tensed as he felt her leaning over him. She spoke softly to him. "You're safe now, Harry. We know what happened and I know you didn't want that, but everything is going to be just fine. I promise."

Harry didn't believe her and felt angry that she would promise something so stupid. He knew he was being irrational and, worse, ungrateful. He knew he probably had Madam Pomfrey to thank for his being alive, for not having died on the Dursleys' kitchen floor and having that death mean absolutely nothing. Until last night, he had never realized how much he feared dying there, having his body hidden away and forgotten. At least if he died fighting Voldemort, he could be buried with his parents instead of in a mud pit somewhere. Now he still had that.

When the medi-witch straightened, Harry opened his eyes. He felt something over his nose and could vaguely see a blurry white shape below his eyes. His uninjured hand moved up toward his face to feel what it was, but a sharp poke at his elbow stopped him. He looked over, avoiding Madam Pomfrey's gaze. There was an IV in his arm.

"That can come out soon, but not just yet," The medi-witch assured.

Looking up from the IV, Harry noticed someone else sitting there: Dumbledore. Harry swallowed under Dumbledore's intense stare. He knew he'd let the headmaster down. Dumbledore was depending on him to go up against the wizarding world's most powerful madman-there were countless lives at stake-and this was how Harry had come out of a fight with a Muggle. He didn't know what to say.

Dumbledore looked to the healer and Madam Pomfrey apparently took this as her cue to leave. Harry suddenly wished she wouldn't leave him alone for this conversation.

"Harry..." Dumbledore started once Madam Pomfrey disappeared around the curtain shielding Harry's bed from view.

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry blurted, though his voice was much scratchier and weaker than he expected.

Dumbledore's face was unreadable, but Harry noticed it lacked the glint of mischievousness that was usually there under the surface somewhere. "What for, my boy?" he asked somberly.

Harry's eyes flicked away in shame. "For...this. My wand was out of reach, but it was my fault it was taken. I didn't even think about wandless magic, but I don't know if I could have done it. But I think..." He swallowed. "...I really think I could do better with Voldemort."

Dumbledore tilted his head. "Oh Harry, is that really where you believe my concerns lie? I see I have failed you even more than I thought."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. He tried to sit up, but his body ached and his limbs were weak and Dumbledore set a halting hand on his arm before he could even wriggle higher on his pillows.

"Harry, you have always been a wonderful, loyal student. I would trust you with my life. It is I who must apologize. I placed you in an environment I didn't understand, assuming it would keep you safe, but not only did I fail to check in on you as thoroughly as I should have, I also fell blind to the signs of the horrors in that supposed sanctuary even once they were parading right in front of me. You've shown such loyalty to me that you were once able to call Fawkes to your side, yet I never considered how deeply I wounded you by placing you in that home. I fully understand if you never forgive me, but please know that I care far more deeply for you than my mistakes make it appear." There was sorrow in Dumbledore's voice. "But do not think for one instance that you have disappointed me. You have never done that."

Harry wasn't so sure that last bit was true, and didn't know what to do with the rest of it. A part of him wasn't convinced Dumbledore hadn't known at least some of what had been going on at the Dursleys. Sure the man probably never expected him to get stabbed, but Dumbledore seemed to know everything that went on in Harry's life. If nothing else, Hagrid would have reported how the Dursleys viewed magic. Plus, during that first outing at eleven, Harry had been so happy that someone was finally taking him away that he told Hagrid all about how the Dursleys hated him. Sure he hadn't gone into graphic detail about the cupboard and the starvation, but he'd certainly gone on about how he'd never eaten in a proper restaurant or had so much food at once and how he'd never got a present before and how he was so excited about his new school uniform because he always wore Dudley's cast-offs. He supposed Dumbledore might not have realized Harry actually feared his relatives, but he certainly had to have known that Harry had never been loved. And Dumbledore had never even tried to help Harry find a family.

But then, who would have wanted him? For all he knew, Dumbledore had tried. The Weasleys hadn't offered to take him in all these years; Remus, through a whole year of teaching him, never once mentioned he was practically Harry's godfather; Sirius had been in Azkaban and when he escaped, despite what everyone said, he hadn't been trying to kill him-he hadn't even _cared_ about him! If Harry hadn't rushed headlong into the situation, Sirius would have killed Peter Pettigrew and probably gone on his way without a second thought. In the end, despite his rash promises, Sirius had abandoned him then, and then again when Harry _really_ needed him after the fourth task, running off with Remus and not even caring that Harry had so desperately wanted him to stay.

Maybe the problem was that with all Dumbledore's reach and influence, he couldn't find one person who could love the boy from the cupboard under the stairs.

"It's not your fault," Harry finally conceded. He just wanted to go back to sleep and not wake up until he was fully healed and Hermione and Ron were back: the two people Harry clung desperately to during tough times, whether they were aware of it or not. "What's going to happen with the Dursleys? Can I maybe use magic there? I probably wouldn't have to use too much to keep them away from me. By the time it gets to an emergency situation, it's too late, but if I could go in there and ward the door to my room and levitate food up and..."

"You are not going back there," Dumbledore said fiercely. Harry was surprised by the flash in his eyes that was much more dangerous than the usual twinkle. "I already had a talk with them last night and they understand that I've deemed them unfit guardians."

Harry stared at him. "You talked to the Dursleys? Last night?"

"Yes. I believe my message was received quite clearly," Dumbledore said nonchalantly. Then he looked to Harry very seriously. "They were punished, Harry, but if you'd like to take them to trial and have them face their crimes, I will back you on that."

"I don't want to do that," Harry said. The thought of details of his home life going public made him shudder. "What do you mean they were punished?"

Dumbledore sat back. "What is it that your relatives prize the most?"

"Their image," Harry said after a brief hesitation. "After Dudley."

"Yes, that is what I gathered. Therefore, wearing the ears of an ass should trouble them. They certainly seemed unhappy with it when I left."

Harry gaped. "You gave them donkey ears?"

"They will disappear once they feel true remorse for their actions," Dumbledore said calmly. "To help them achieve that, they will relive their actions in their dreams. That too will end once they understand their wrongs."

Harry wasn't sure how he felt about this. Dumbledore always was a bit too optimistic about people's ability to change. Neither spell would ever end for Uncle Vernon. And yet, Harry couldn't help but hope that maybe the spells wouldn't last long on his aunt. Though she had been ready to let him die rather than let police arrest her husband, she had actually looked sad to see him hurt. As pathetic as it might be, Harry was a little touched at that. He'd never thought it would bother his aunt to see him die, but she'd looked genuinely torn up about it. Not that Harry really believed she could grow to love him, but Harry had never wanted to be his family's enemy. Now that Dumbledore had used magic on them and made it very obvious why, he'd made Harry the enemy and now there wouldn't be any part of them sad to see him gone.

Dumbledore seemed to sense that his words hadn't fixed things and stood.

"Sir?" Harry asked hesitantly. "Who else knows?"

"At this moment, Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey and myself."

Harry's eyes widened and this time he did manage to scoot up just a little on his pillow. "At this _moment_? You're not going to tell anyone else, are you? I don't want my friends to know, or the Weasleys or my teachers or anyone!"

Dumbledore regarded him with sympathy. "In times of hardship we need the support of loved ones the most. Without that support, we fall."

"That's crap!" Harry protested angrily. "I've always managed by myself. You have no right going and telling everyone!"

"Not everyone, Harry. You are right that this is your secret to tell and I will mostly allow you the choice of whom to reveal it to. I hope you will choose to tell your friends, but I will not inform them myself. I will, however, be contacting Sirius. It's important for your godfather to know."

"No, please not Sirius! I barely know him and he doesn't want to deal with something like this!" Harry begged. "If I'm ever going to see him again, I don't want it to be 'cause you're making him come to make small talk. He's going to think I'm a nutter if he only ever sees me during some crisis!"

"I'm sorry, but it's for the best. You'd want me to inform you if Sirius were in trouble, wouldn't you?"

Harry glared at the headmaster and said nothing.

Dumbledore's expression remained understanding. "Then you must allow him the same rights. I promise you he won't think less of you for this, Harry."

"You can't promise that," Harry muttered, leaning his head back and turning his glare to the ceiling, but he knew there was no use arguing anymore. "Professor Snape...he saved me."

"Yes."

"Can you thank him for me?"

Dumbledore arched a white eyebrow. "Wouldn't you like to thank him yourself?"

Harry shrugged. The movement hurt. "I'm pretty sure he'd be most happy if he never has to have a private conversation with me again. He never wanted to know about this in the first place and I forced it on him. I think he just wants me to leave him alone, but if you could just tell him thanks for saving my life...again..."

Finally, Dumbledore seemed to have just the slightest hint of a twinkle creep back into his eye. "Certainly, Harry."

He exited through the gap in the ghostly white privacy screens and Madam Pomfrey immediately swooped in to replace him. "Look at you," she tutted, "Scoot back down." She helped him as he slowly lay down properly once more. "I don't think you can handle more healing magic yet, so we'll just get some Dreamless Sleep in you and we'll do a little more work when you wake."

Normally, Harry might protest that it was morning, but he was exhausted and in pain and had no one to see or work to do. Sleep was exactly what he wanted. He gratefully accepted the cup and gulped it down with a practiced ease. "Thanks."

To his horror, Madam Pomfrey started to cry. Thankfully she wasn't a loud crier, but she sniffed a lot and turned her face away to dab at her eyes with her apron.

"Madam Pomfrey?" Harry asked in concern. "Are you okay?"

"Oh stars, look at me." She smiled down at him and brushed his fringe from his forehead, though it immediately flopped right back down. "It seems that each time you come here it's for a worse reason than the last. I don't know that I've ever seen a student face so many hardships. I just don't want to see them break your spirit."

This was probably a sign she wouldn't react well if Harry ever told her he had cancer.

"They won't," he reassured her. He wasn't sure exactly what she meant but he knew what she wanted to hear. It was a nice thought that he might have something strong left inside of him that he could guard.

Tiredness washed over him and he felt a little guilty that he was so relieved not to have to be strong just then. He'd try to find that spirit she was talking about when he woke up.

His eyelids sank closed and he wasn't even startled when he felt Madam Pomfrey kiss his forehead. Harry felt the weight lift from the bed and heard bottles tinkle in the distance. It was a peaceful, hospital wing lullaby. It put him right to sleep.

-

The next time Harry woke, sun streaked low through the windows of the hospital wing. The screens stood stacked against the wall and he could finally look around the infirmary. All the other beds were empty and perfectly made. The main door was closed, but Harry guessed there had to be some protection from people just barging in and wondering why the Boy Who Lived was all banged up.

He was feeling better than before-more awake, certainly. His left hand was still wrapped up and he didn't know if that was why he couldn't move his fingers or if it was because they were in bad shape. A curious touch to his nose now that his arm was IV-free told him the bandages were still there, but there was only an ache instead of any sharper discomfort. The two major points of pain were his stomach and his knee, but both had dulled greatly since he'd last assessed them. He winced as he remembered the crunch his knee had made under his uncle's foot and decided he didn't want to look. From the pressure there, he figured it was bandaged up anyway. As for his stomach...the image of the knife jerking out of his flesh, covered in blood, flashed through his mind and Harry pushed it ferociously away. He wasn't ready to think about his stomach yet.

In fact, there were a lot of things he didn't want to think about just then. Like if his professors would think him too fragile or useless to keep training, or what Sirius was going to think about him now, or if anyone would tell Professor Lupin. He figured if Sirius came at all, he's spend an awkward ten minutes or so with him, then go to Lupin so they could shake their heads over how Harry was nothing like his father, who would never have gotten into this sort of situation.

The door creaked open and Harry's breath hitched. But it wasn't Sirius or even one of his professors that entered.

"Kota?" Harry asked, shocked and confused, sitting up. It was only when his neighbor tearfully threw herself on him in a hug that Harry was painfully informed he was, in fact, _not_ hallucinating. He couldn't help but let out a gasp and Kota leapt off.

"Oh God, I'm sorry." She clutched his good hand and pressed a chaste kiss to his knuckles.

Harry stared. "What are you doing here?"

They both looked over as Mr. and Mrs. Stenson entered, talking with Madam Pomfrey. Mr. Stenson's face was grim as he locked eyes with Harry and nodded at something Madam Pomfrey was saying. Mrs. Stenson approached more slowly than her daughter, her gaze roaming over Harry's visible injuries. She sat at his left side and folded her against her lips. "Oh Harry."

"How are you here?" Harry asked, still perplexed.

"Hedwig brought a letter saying you were injured and to touch this quill and we would be taken to you, so we did and we ended up here. Your headmaster met us and told us everything." Kota clutched his hand even tighter. Her face scrunched up and her eyes welled with tears.

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Kota, calm down. I'm fine. It's no big deal."

"Not a big deal?" Mr. Stenson said, half in anger, half in distress as he approached. "They said you would have died if they hadn't been able to use magic to save you." He stood next to Kota and put a hand on her shoulder. "You're not going back there. Ever again."

Harry doubted the Stensons had much say in the matter, but the words still managed to comfort. After the previous summer, Harry at least believed the Stensons cared. They'd said such nice things and given him their house key before he even offered to cure Mr. Stenson's cancer. After Christmas, though, he hadn't been sure if he'd ever see them again. To have them here was wonderful, even despite the looks of pity.

"Maybe I can show you around the castle," Harry changed the subject.

"I think not," Madam Pomfrey huffed, taking this as her cue to look up from her bustling around.

"I'm feeling much better," Harry protested, "and this'll probably be the only chance for them to visit. I can make it short."

Madam Pomfrey frowned. Harry knew she'd normally say no without hesitation, but now she looked torn. Maybe she felt bad for him, maybe she thought the distraction was a good idea, but whatever the reason she conceded to examining him and doing the next round of magical healing so he could get out of bed.

The Stensons politely waited out in the hall where chairs lined the walls in a rudimentary waiting room that was usually used when Madam Pomfrey wanted guests out of her sight while she worked on her patients. She focused her efforts on his knee and stomach, using the limit of healing magic Harry's body could take to focus on making sure he could walk without pain. His hand, therefore, was left as was. He bent his knee and Madam Pomfrey stood by while he cautiously put pressure on his foot and took a practice walk around the infirmary. The medi-witch still wasn't completely satisfied but slapped a brace around his knee and agreed to let him out for one hour, provided he move slowly and stay as close as possible.

The sounds of the castle were different than usual as they walked through. Voices and grinding sounds got louder as they moved toward the first floor, but every other floor only offered silence.

Kota gasped and pointed at every magical thing they came across. "Have you traveled the way they had us come here?" she asked. "It was like being yanked through a black hole by your bellybutton."

Harry smiled. "Yeah, I can never stay on my feet with those things. I'd rather Floo, that's traveling by fire...through fireplaces. I haven't quite got the hang of that one either, though. I always trip over logs."

Kota eyed him skeptically, which was a bit rich for a girl who'd just traveled by quill. Harry turned to smile at Mr. Stenson, but he caught the man staring at him sadly. Kota's dad forced a lift at the corner of his mouth and Harry gratefully accepted the indulgent pretending. He jumped right back into explanations of magical things to keep the distraction running.

He knew he should probably stay away from the reconstruction, but couldn't resist showing the Stensons the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. Luckily, the wizards seemed distracted as they worked on the adjacent entrance hall, which lit up with sparks and great flashes of light. Watching grown men in robes slapping each other on the back and women with pointed hats looking over blueprints seemed to truly intrigue Kota's parents, who couldn't stop staring. They looked out of place in their Muggle trousers and shirts and seemed much more acutely aware of it than their daughter who was too busy pressing her hands to the giant hourglasses filled with jewels that counted the house points. Harry joined her to explain about the different houses with a fond smile.

"Harry?"

Harry turned at the call to find Mr. Weasley squinting at him from across the hall. Harry waved and the redheaded man broke into a smile and started toward them, cocking his head when he saw Harry's guests.

"Don't worry, Mr. Weasley, they know now."

Mr. Weasley nodded in approval. "Oh good. Now I won't have to bother with remembering what Muggle occupation I said. Lucky I know so much about Muggles, eh? We got a fellytone a few summers ago and I have a fairly decent plug collection if I do say so myself." His chest puffed out in pride. Harry snuck a smile to Kota who bit the side of her lip to fight back a chuckle. "Harry's seen all my plugs, haven't..." He trailed off. The good humor vanished from his face as got a good look at Harry. He stepped forward and gently caught Harry's chin, tipping his head up just a little. The balding man opened his mouth but whatever he was going to say caught for a moment when he saw Harry's bandaged hand. "Harry, what on earth happened?"

"Er...fight with my cousin," he muttered, avoiding eye contact.

Kota shot him a sympathetic look, but Mr. Stenson came to the rescue. "So Arthur, what exactly are you all doing over there? I must admit I'm not used to seeing much magic. It's an impressive sight."

Mr. Weasley eyed Harry's nose suspiciously but took the bait and stepped back. "Yes," he answered politely. "Everyday magic isn't quite so visual." He finally tore his gaze from Harry and straightened. "I can show you if you'd like...introduce you around. I'd love to ask you some questions about Muggle-life, if you don't mind."

The adults headed toward the main hall after the teenagers vowed to stay out of trouble. Harry and Kota started toward the kitchens when Kota slipped in that she could use a bite. He let her tickle the pear, but soon realized he probably should have warned her about the house elves. They glared at Kota the whole time they put together their snack. She had screamed pretty loudly, after all.

Dobby was, as usual, unfazed and wrapped his arms around Harry's legs, then looked up at him curiously at the feel of the brace. In seeing Harry's mouth pressed into a tense line, Dobby's eyes widened and began shrieking about Harry being hurt, but Harry quickly cut him off, said he was fine, and introduced Kota. Dobby still watched Harry worriedly, but dutifully bowed to Kota. "Any friend of Harry Potter is a friend of mine, miss," squeaked the elf. "Dobby thinks Harry Potter is the greatest wizard in the whole world. Harry Potter is giving Dobby his favorite presents of socks and is saving him from his old bad master! Harry Potter is saying that Dobby should not be punishing himself no longer, miss. Harry Potter is being generous and noble and selfless..."

Harry cleared his throat loudly, his face a little hot. "Thanks Dobby. No more of that."

Dobby brought over a pile of socks, every one Harry had ever given him, including the ones he had left for him this last Christmas, and insisted on telling Kota the exaggerated story behind every one. As soon as their food was ready, Harry thanked Dobby and pulled Kota through the portal, announcing they needed to get back to the hospital wing and would eat there. The whole way, Kota smirked and called him "Harry Potter, sir" and gushed about how kind and noble he was for his generous gifts of socks.

"Shut it," Harry growled. "Dobby's just mental is all. Kind of like somebody else I know."

She moved to shove him, but in seeing Harry leaning heavily on the banister as they slowly climbed the stairs, she clearly remembered a shove was not a good idea and her hand swooped away in a conspicuous arc. "How about throwing an arm over my shoulder."

"No, I'm fine," Harry said. His knee was starting to hurt again and a sweat had broken out on his face trying to make it up the stairs. He was beginning to regret ignoring Madam Pomfrey's advice to stay close.

Kota shot him a stern look. "No, you're not going to be stubborn." She grabbed his forearm and pulled it over her shoulders.

"Kota..."

She kept a vice grip on his arm. "So, is George Weasley here by any chance? His dad is."

Harry frowned, but gratefully leaned on her, just a little. "No, so you can wipe your drool up off the floor."

Kota stuck her tongue out at him.

"I could put in a good word though."

"Aw, Harry, this is why you're my favorite dark-haired wizard buddy," Kota grinned.

"So I guess that means I'm now second fiddle to a certain ginger-haired wizard buddy?"

Kota sighed. "Oh Harry. Not at all! You're second fiddle to a ginger-haired wizard hunk of burning love."

Harry's face scrunched. "I think I might sick up."

-

Eventually the Stensons had to leave. Mr. Stenson looked like he wanted to get in one last word about the situation, but Harry hugged Kota goodbye and pretended everything was normal and Mr. Stenson got the hint. As soon as they left the hospital wing, Harry crawled back into bed, exhausted. Whatever painkillers Madam Pomfrey had put him on were fading and the ache in his stomach seemed to spread deeper.

Madam Pomfrey bustled over, clucking her tongue and muttering about how he shouldn't have gone out, but when Harry smiled and tiredly said he'd had fun, the medi-witch seemed relieved.

The next couple days were spent trying to get him better before the other students came back. Harry rarely heard sounds of the reconstruction efforts after his day with the Stensons and wondered if Dumbledore was delaying the other students' return just for him. None of them wanted Harry to have to explain what had happened to nosy peers, but that would be a little extreme.

Eventually, though, the moment he'd been dreading interrupted his peaceful stay.

The infirmary door burst open and Harry dropped his Quidditch book onto his lap when he jerked at the shock. Sirius approached Harry's bed uncertainly, but when he got a good look at the fading bruise over Harry's nose and the swollen, darkened fingers sticking out from his bandages, Sirius's fingers clenched on the bed's footboard. It was the first time he'd seen Sirius since their brief encounter after the third task. He looked much better than he did even then-healthier and more handsome-apparently time at Lupin's was doing him good. Harry could now see why Sirius had been so popular at school, he just wished this moment could be happier like he'd imagined. Instead, Harry just felt like squirming under Sirius's visual examination.

"I'm going to kill them," he growled.

"No," Harry said sternly.

Sirius's eyes flashed with fury. "Look at what they did to you. Your uncle deserves to _die_. Your father would have murdered him in a second for this! I'll just be acting in his stead when I rip that bastard apart limb from limb."

"Sirius, don't do anything to them," Harry said, gripping the edges of his bedcovers. "You'd be sent straight back to Azkaban."

"It would be worth it."

"Not to me!" Harry protested angrily. "You always have to leave! If you get taken to Azkaban again, I won't even be able to write you!" His eyes dropped to his lap and he calmed down a little. "I was hoping we might start talking more this year. I know it has to be by letter, but now that you're at Professor Lupin's, I thought it might be safer to get in contact. Maybe even by floo once in awhile." He didn't have much time left to get to know his godfather and refused to lose him again. "So please, I'm asking you not to go near them. I mean, trying to avenge my parents' deaths didn't work out well for anyone, did it?"

"Harry," Sirius said softly, staring. His voice choked with emotion. "I know I haven't been the best godfather...I've been pretty terrible actually..."

"Sirius, don't," Harry interrupted, but Sirius looked up with a piercing gaze.

"I have. I should have written more, I should have pushed harder to get you to stay with Remus and me. Every time you need me I'm not there. I should have stayed with you longer after the Diggory boy was killed." Sirius's eyebrows scrunched up like he just couldn't wrap his mind around all of this. "But why didn't you say something to me?"

Harry felt caught under the questioning stare and couldn't look away, but he shrunk back into his pillows nonetheless. "It just...didn't seem like there was any point to that. You're supposed to be in hiding and I had it under control." That sounded stupid under the circumstances. "Well, until now anyway."

"Dumbledore told me this has been going on since at least last summer."

"Well...not the stabbing." Harry cringed and scratched his eyebrow; that sounded _really_ stupid.

Sirius came around and slumped into the chair next to Harry's bedside. He put his head in his hands and his fingers clenched in his long hair. "Didn't you know I would have come and gotten you?" His head came up and he searched Harry's face. "I could have helped you, Harry."

"Sirius," Harry sighed, "you know you couldn't have." He straightened. "And I think you're getting the wrong impression of it. It wasn't like I just cowered in the corner; I fought back and stuff. It's not like I just let him do whatever he wanted." That was a lie. There were times when during a beating Harry just gave up, curled into a ball and waited for it to end. But he didn't want Sirius to think he was just some sniveling coward like Wormtail. He wanted him to think Harry could be as brave as James Potter, even if it wasn't exactly true.

Sirius's expression softened. "I didn't mean it like that." He shook his head. "Fuck. James and Lily are probably rolling over in their graves wanting my head." He looked back to Harry. "Sorry. Are you swearing yet?"

Harry's mouth quirked. "I'm fifteen. I have a Scottish roommate."

"Fifteen? Merlin, still seems like you ought to be in diapers trying to stick your foot in your mouth."

"Oh my foot ends up in my mouth quite a lot."

Sirius laughed, his smile lopsided. "Wow, that's Lily right there. She had the quick tongue." He paused, looking wistful. "She would have adored you. James would have too."

Harry's eyes flicked down to his lap. He swallowed but his throat was suddenly tight. He hoped so badly that Sirius's words were true.

"I wish they could be here," Sirius continued. "I'm afraid I'm a pretty poor substitute. I never thought I'd be much good at the parental thing. Even James yelled at me at least once every time I was around you and James rarely got serious. I just didn't know things like you'd try to eat buttons or that you'd wait for the second I looked away to try to climb into the toilet."

Harry couldn't help but blush and laugh. " _That_ I don't do so much these days."

Sirius straightened. "Well, I do know a bit more about teenagers. I remember being one and all that. Changes, urges, popularity...I get that a whole lot better than diapers."

Harry desperately prayed this conversation wouldn't continue along the line of urges.

"How long...what exactly..." Sirius floundered, then met Harry's eye with determination. "What exactly did they do to you?"

Oh God. Harry swallowed heavily and rubbed the edge of the blanket between his fingers. "Dumbledore already told you and that was the worst of it by far. It's not something I really want to talk about."

Sirius seemed disappointed, but nodded in acceptance. After a stretch of awkwardness, Sirius broke the silence. "So...I don't know how much you know about this last battle, but our side caught a few Death Eaters, including a certain rat neither of us are too fond of."

"Peter?" Harry asked, mouth agape. He hadn't heard that! "Does that mean..."

Sirius grinned. "Not officially quite yet, but the interrogation's gone through and they know I'm innocent. Dumbledore's working on getting me pardoned and then I'm free! So, here's what I'm thinking: you and me reclaiming the Black family estates, we'll play Quidditch all day, throw around my money so everyone kisses our arses and I'll find some hot woman with loose morals at the local pub who has a cute daughter for you. What d'ya think?"

Harry's breath caught. Sirius's eyes glittered with laughter but Harry just stared. "You mean live with you? Are you serious?" he asked, barely daring to hope this was for real.

"Serious is my middle name." He cocked his head to the side. "Oh wait, it's my first name." He looked at Harry expectantly but when he took in Harry's uncertain expression, he stopped his joking. "Yes, Harry. I'm absolutely serious."

"I'm really not going back to the Dursleys?" Harry asked, barely daring to believe it.

Now Sirius looked completely grave. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "No. Never. That is _over_."

Harry closed his eyes and let out a deep, somewhat shaky breath. Then he looked at his godfather. "Thank you."

Sirius nodded solemnly. "That's what I'm here for. We'll figure this all out and things will get better. 'Kay?"

"Okay," Harry agreed, but all he could think was that after all this time, he'd finally got what he'd always wanted...right when he couldn't have it. He wasn't planning on making it until summer. The illness would be bad by then so Harry couldn't wait that long to kill Voldemort. If everything went to plan, there would be no summer for Harry, just when he finally had someone willing to let him be part of a family.

He pushed that thought aside and listened to Sirius's wild plans, playing along but knowing all the while it was only a fantasy.

-

Finally, Harry was healed enough that his injuries weren't visible. His left hand still ached when Madam Pomfrey asked him to squeeze her fingers and she wasn't completely satisfied with the strength of his grip, but she said it should heal soon enough. His knee still shook a little if put under pressure for too long, but walking was fine and there was no limp. Total recovery would take a little more time, but since he exercised it so much just getting to his classes, the prognosis was good. His stomach felt fine, but there was a nasty scar Madam Pomfrey couldn't make disappear. Magic, she said, couldn't fix everything. Then she moved into a lecture about Quidditch which Harry tuned out.

He met Ron and Hermione at the main gates and they were both relieved to see Harry was safe. At dinner, they told Harry all about their stay at Beauxbatons.

"There were fountains and marble statues everywhere. It looked like a palace," Ron described through a mouthful of chicken.

"For dinner, they sit everyone at circular tables with tablecloths and candlesticks. Everything's really proper," Hermione said, neatly serving herself a helping of peas from the serving bowl. "Of course, we all had to sleep on cots in their dining hall. They lit hundreds of tiny candles that floated around like fireflies."

"There weren't any poltergeists and all the ghosts were so clean. You couldn't even tell how they died. The Bloody Baron would have been chased out of there in a second and Nearly-Headless Nick would never be allowed to flop his head around. And I swear there was harp music playing all over the place. You couldn't tell where it was coming from, and you almost couldn't hear it, but the moment you stopped talking, it was there. Everything was so..." Ron looked to Hermione for the right word.

"Sparkly," they said in unison. Harry laughed.

"I'm so happy to be back at Hogwarts," Hermione sighed contentedly. "It was horrible."

"Yeah! It was like you couldn't mess up or joke around. It was like being at some fancy dinner party where you had to be on your best behavior." Ron shuddered.

"Well, I'm glad you guys are back too," Harry grinned.

"So where did Dumbledore send you anyways?" Ron asked through another mouthful.

"The Dursleys." Harry made an exaggerated disgusted face to hide how much the memory shook him. "But I was allowed back really quickly. Saw your dad around helping fix wards. Dumbledore even let the Stensons drop by for a day." He figured he better get that out now before Ron heard it from his dad and got suspicious.

"Really?" One of Hermione's eyebrows lowered in bewilderment. "That must've been a hassle."

"Wanted me out of the way, I guess," Harry shrugged. "Figured me playing tour guide was the way to do it."

"That's our boy." Ron slung his arm around Harry's shoulder. "Bugging the crap out of people until he gets what he wants."

Harry laughed. "Hey, if the method works..."

"So what'd they think?"

"Probably the same things we thought our first day here. They were a little overwhelmed. Dobby freaked Kota out."

"Well, house elves are kinda weird looking, really," Ron said. "But hey, they cook great so I'd keep 'em around."

Harry's laughs turned into fake coughs at Hermione's glare. Life was good.


	15. Chapter 15: Slytherins and Such

CHAPTER 15  
SLYTHERINS AND SUCH

The halls were mostly empty. The bell had signaled the start of classes three minutes ago and most of Hogwarts's students were in their respective classrooms ready to learn...or ready to pass notes and daydream. Something.

That was why the card-playing men in a giant hall painting all looked up at the sound of racing footsteps. The men hollered drunkenly as Ron and Harry flew by. Ron flipped his fingers up at them as he passed.

Professor Trelawney had kept Harry after Divination to further discuss his impending doom. Ron, like a good friend, had waited in the doorway to make faces behind their batty professor's back. He'd desperately wanted to kill her, of course, but miming dying of boredom made the corners of Harry's mouth turn up when lately Trelawney's morbid talk often made both their faces lose a lot of color.

But now they were late for Potions. Harry breathlessly apologized every few steps, but Ron brushed it off. It was worth it. Still, Snape didn't take tardiness lightly and they'd be stuck with detention, for sure. How many nights depended on how sexually frustrated Snape was feeling that day...at least, that was Ron's theory about Snape's mood swings.

Nearly there, they rounded a corner and Ron nearly slammed into Harry, who had halted without warning. He followed Harry's gaze to a first or second year girl with a split book bag. She knelt by it, sniffling, trying to gather her books into her arms, but there were too many and that last one kept making the whole pile explode from her grasp. She was a Slytherin, though. Ron indicated this to Harry by pointing at his own tie and motioning for him to keep moving. The later they were, the worse the detention.

"Ron, she needs help," Harry said quietly. "Don't you remember being a first year? If Prefects and the older students didn't help us out we would never have made it."

"Name one time a Slytherin Prefect helped us out. They don't help us and we don't make ourselves late for detention helping them. It's a general rule, Harry."

But there Harry went, anyway, hurrying toward the girl.

The girl eyed him with mistrust, but Harry picked up her bag and mended it with a spell Ron had actually taught him to mend clothes. Wearing hand-me-downs meant it was one of the earliest spells Ron had picked up from his mother. Harry's clothes needed patching up even more than his own, which Ron could never quite get used to. He'd gotten on the Hogwarts Express at eleven, the abnormally serious talk from the twins still fresh in his mind: he would probably be the only one in his class with second-hand everything, and that with Ron's belongings having passed through so many brothers and being in even worse shape than when they'd had them, it would stand out. They told him to act proud whatever people said. They told him that if he acted like his stuff was as new as theirs, people wouldn't notice as much. Then they twirled their wands menacingly and said if anyone gave him a hard time about it, to talk to them.

Then, when Ron had easily fixed the tear in Harry's pajama shirt that first night with the mending charm, Harry had heaped on the praise with wide-eyed sincerity. In that moment, Ron ceased being embarrassed that he was the only first year with expertise in that spell.

Still, now was not the time to be using it to help first year Slytherins when he and Harry were going to get strung up in the dungeons by their thumbs if they were any later. "Oy, Harry. Going on five minutes. I don't want to be disemboweled today."

But Harry was helping shove books into the girl's bag. "What class you got?"

The girl looked up at him warily. "What?"

"You're late, yeah? Where you going?" Harry repeated, holding the bag out to her by its strap.

She snatched her bag from it and hugged it to her chest as if Harry was going to steal it after all that. "Transfiguration."

Harry nodded and pointed down the hall.

"Aw, come on, Harry, not the passage," Ron groaned. He wasn't exactly keen on running into Draco Malfoy on a late night run to the kitchens.

Harry ignored him. "Alright. End of the corridor on your right, there's a secret passage under the big tapestry. Go up when you reach the staircase, not down; it'll drop you off 'round the corner from the classroom."

The girl eyed Harry's red and gold tie skeptically. "If you're lying, I'll tell Draco Malfoy on you."

"Ooh, he's real scared," Ron retorted and Harry shot him a look.

"Ron, she's eleven."

"I'm twelve, jerk!" the girl scowled.

Ron snorted.

Despite the girl's hesitation, she finally gave a jerky nod and ran off toward the tapestry. She shot one last look over her shoulder at Harry before disappearing underneath it.

The two boys took off again.

"What a sweet, grateful child," Ron breathed heavily.

"Just doesn't trust us. Can't blame her."

"Well, who do you think's gonna lose more points out of this. If you'd let her be later than us, Slytherin would've gone down more. Strategy, Harry!"

"Don't much care about house points these days, to be honest."

That shut Ron up.

To their great surprise, as they rounded the corner, the rest of the class was still waiting outside the door to the Potions room, divided by house, of course. Harry collapsed back against the wall, breathing heavily, while Ron bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

"Oh, look. Potty and the Weasel," Malfoy drawled. The Slytherins snickered.

Ron straightened, temper flaring out of habit, but Harry spoke before he could.

"Wow, really hurt by that one, Malfoy. We might even cry," Harry said as if he found the whole thing too stupid to bother with. Ron went with it and rolled his eyes. Harry continued as if having an idea. "Hey, I know. Maybe you could make fun of Ron being poor and me being an orphan, just for some new material...oh wait..." He trailed off and shrugged. It was the Gryffindors' turn to chuckle. The Slytherins glared, but Ron smirked as it looked like some were having a hard time disagreeing.

"Why think of new ways to insult you when the old ones hold true?" Malfoy retorted easily. "Weasley's family can still barely feed itself and your mother's still dead."

Harry began digging through his bag. "Yeah, yeah, while the Malfoys are rich and evil and swimming in pools of champagne, we get it." He pulled out a bag of fizzing whizbees and offered some to Parvati. "Can we skip it this time or does the memory impaired section need a recap?"

Ron kept his face neutral best he could, digging his hand into the candy bag when Harry offered, but inside he was laughing in Malfoy's pinched face. He didn't know if Harry really didn't care anymore about Malfoy's taunts or if it was an act, but never had they left a fight so obviously the victors. Malfoy just looked foolish.

Harry turned to talk to Hermione about what had kept them, but Malfoy wasn't about to be dismissed on that note. "So Potter, I heard you were in the hospital wing the whole time we were at Beauxbatons and they were trying to keep it all hushed."

Harry froze. Ron and Hermione both looked at their friend in surprise. Ron began to panic. Had Harry gotten sick and not told them?

But the next second, Harry looked just as calm as before. "Well, where did you think I'd sleep while the wards around the dorms were being strengthened?"

"Oh, I don't know, perhaps in the kitchens with the dirty little house elves. I'm sure they'd have a pile of rags for you to sleep on. They'd remind you of those clothes you show up at the train station in each year." He cocked his head to the side. "Is it some Muggle fashion to look as if you sleep in a gutter or are you just trying to fit in better with the Weasleys?"

Ron felt himself growing hot and would normally go for his wand, but waited for Harry's cue since he seemed to be playing this differently today. Harry didn't look quite as coolheaded as before, but he still didn't rise to the bait. "So really we're just back to the same theme again, aren't we?"

"While Gryffindors are so creative," Pansy Parkinson sneered sarcastically.

There was silence. Shit. Ron wanted to have a cool comeback to that one, but he couldn't think of one insult that didn't play on "evil" or "snakes" or "ferrets." Harry either didn't have one or was unwilling to play the game, because he was silent.

"Looks like Malfoy's eyebrows are a quite a bit darker than his hair these days. Not a natural blond anymore?" Parvati offered.

Well, it was new. Even Hermione snorted a little at Malfoy's infuriated sputtering.

Everyone jumped when the door flung open and slammed against the wall. Millicent Bulstrode even let out a strangled scream. Snape's narrowed eyes scanned the group, trying to determine if anyone had been fighting. Then he turned around and disappeared back inside, robes billowing menacingly behind him as the students nervously followed.

Once they got their potions started, Hermione leaned over. "Did you really stay in the infirmary while we were gone?"

"Yeah," Harry whispered. "They wanted to keep an eye on me. Wards were down, that sort of thing. Didn't want some Death Eater nabbing the Boy Who Lived while someone was fiddling with the protections 'round the tower. Bit embarrassing, probably, if that happened."

"You weren't in there for..." Ron's breath caught at the thought, "... _you_ know."

Harry's eyes widened. "No! No. I was walking around the castle. Ask your dad. I was fine, honest. Nothing wrong 'cept a busted nose from a fight with Dudley."

"Oh Harry..." Hermione started.

"Don't _oh Harry_ me. I got him back good."

There was something about that story that struck Ron as off. Shouldn't Harry's cousin be at his own boarding school? But before he could ask, they all noticed Snape staring at Harry, obviously having overheard. Snape's expression was stony, but Harry looked embarrassed as he pretended to be preoccupied with his chopping.

Snape started walking the other way, so Ron opened his mouth in question, but suddenly Snape was there like an overgrown bat "suggesting" they quit their yammering and focus the small amounts of brain activity they possessed on the task at hand.

When Snape swooped away, Ron leaned forward over the cauldron and whispered, "You swear you weren't in there 'cause you were sick."

Harry blinked at him. "Nothing to do with cancer, I swear."

Ron nodded uneasily and followed Harry's instructions to add the next ingredient. Something still seemed off about the whole thing, but he supposed if something had happened it was done with by now.

-

Snape sat at his desk grading papers and watching his students out of his peripheral vision. Now it was clear how Potter kept his family's dirty secret from anyone who showed suspicion. He'd lied about it with ease that could only come with practice.

If the boy had been a Slytherin, Snape would have called him after class and made it clear he could come here for support. Snape wasn't a kind man, but it was his duty to look after his students and he would never shirk that responsibility. Harry Potter, though, was not a Slytherin. Harry Potter detested his Potions professor. Why bother reaching out to a boy that would push his hand away in disgust?

Then again, Snape had been the first to discover the situation. The boy had already opened up to him and to slam that door after such a brutal attack seemed cold at best, damaging at worst. But kindling a relationship with James Potter's son? Not the most appealing venture, to say the least. Though, of course, James Potter had never gotten the opportunity to influence his son...

He watched the boy pack up his things and struggled with whether to snap at him to stay, but the then boy was out the door with the rest of the students.

Snape's body relaxed. It was for the best. Potter had Minerva if he needed to talk. Snape had wanted out of this situation and he'd have to be a fool to insert himself back into it right when he'd been allowed an exit.

He nodded to himself and bowed his head once more over his work. Potter would be fine without him.

-

"Well done, my boy. How about all three of us at once, now?" Dumbledore's eyes sparkled with delight. Harry nodded, still breathing hard from his duel with Dumbledore, which had been preceded by separate duels with McGonagall and Lupin. He straightened as his professors began to circle him.

"This round, pretend each curse thrown is an Unforgivable. Assume no shields will work and that you won't recover once hit," Dumbledore instructed. "This is pure dodging and firing back, from three directions. Are you ready?"

Harry nodded and immediately the curses flew from all three directions. He ducked to avoid a yellow streak from Lupin, then jumped over a red jet from McGonagall. He fired back wildly, trying to disarm anyone he could hit, but there was too much happening. He barely managed to avoid a hit from Dumbledore...by stepping right into a beam from Lupin's wand. His legs sprung together and he fell forward to his hands in a pushup position.

Lupin quickly cancelled the Leg-Locker Curse and helped Harry up.

"That," Harry gasped, "is impossible."

"For most, perhaps," Dumbledore agreed, summoning Harry's glass and filling it with water from his wand. "If you'll allow me an observation from our earlier duel, when you concentrate, you seem to sense what your opponent is preparing to do. If you can tap into that and apply it to multiple foes, you may be capable of more than anyone expects."

Harry hesitated. "Alright," he said slowly, "just give me a second to figure out how to do that." He saw McGonagall hide a smile.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to focus his concentration. _Okay. Three opponents. Where are they? What are they feeling?_

Gradually, he felt them. Dumbledore was easiest. Harry could practically feel the heat of the power crackling around him. Lupin was next. It took Harry a moment to understand what he was picking up there: rage and calm, wildness and control. That was the werewolf inside, obviously, but it was nowhere near the full moon. Harry supposed it was always there though, always a part of himself that Lupin had to fight. McGonagall was the most difficult to pick up on, though when he did, Harry realized it was not for want of magical energy. His head of house was a powerful witch, that was for sure, but her animagus form was telling: an animal who could creep silently, who could wait, calm and still, with only its tail waving hypnotically, before suddenly baring its teeth and swiping with bared claws. He'd have to keep an eye on her...or a feel on her, he supposed.

"Ready," he finally said, opening his eyes but trying to rely more on those feelings than his sight. He therefore felt McGonagall prepare to pounce behind him and Lupin's inner wolf duck into a predatory stance. Harry pushed to feel more. McGonagall would strike first, aiming for his chest, then Lupin at his legs. Harry dodged and jumped when they did, then dove when he felt the fire that was Dumbledore's magic jet toward him. Dumbledore was easy to avoid because his spells burned so bright. The others, he knew he had to get rid of first, especially McGongall since she kept managing to slink out of his radar.

Lupin and McGonagall fired at the same time and Harry had to dive to the ground to dodge them. He rolled to avoid a spell from Dumbledore. He momentarily lost his feel for McGonagall, but found her again when she shot a hex. He rolled again, then fired a Body Bind while he still had her. It hit. One down. He leapt to his feet. He had an idea.

He started firing spells with abandon at the two, purposefully to one side or the other, forcing them to move in the way he wanted. It didn't take long to get them right where he wanted, Lupin directly in front of him, Dumbledore directly behind. He faced Lupin and hesitated. Dumbledore took advantage first and fired from behind. Harry ducked down and in the headmaster's momentary surprise as his curse disarmed Lupin, Harry spun on the floor and shouted, "Expelliarmus!"

It took him a moment to be sure he'd won. At Dumbledore's smile and nod, though, he collapsed onto his back, breathing heavily.

"Wonderful, Harry," the headmaster congratulated. "Very clever."

"Oh Albus, you've exhausted the poor boy!" McGonagall chided, obviously out of her Body Bind.

"No, I'm fine," Harry said, pushing himself up. He paused, then looked up at the headmaster. "I'd never be able to do that against a bunch of Death Eaters, though. This was nearly more than I could handle."

Lupin extended a hand and helped Harry up. "You forget one of your opponents is the most powerful wizard alive." He looked Harry right in the eye very seriously. "And you won't be alone out there again, Harry. We'll do everything in our power to keep that from happening."

Harry nodded, truly thankful for that. After last year and the graveyard... He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. No use thinking of that now.

Lupin patted him on the back and suggested he take a break.

The door opened and the room's four occupants looked over. Snape hovered in the doorway, surveying the unexpected scene. "I apologize for the interruption," he said slowly. "I was merely delivering Lupin's monthly dose of Wolfsbane." He set a smoking goblet on a desk they had pushed next to the door. "It should be taken within the next hour."

"Thank you, Severus," Lupin said with a polite nod.

Snape nodded curtly and turned to leave.

"Wait Severus," Dumbledore called. Snape looked back and the older wizard motioned him over. "Close the door, if you may. I'd like you to duel Mr. Potter."

Snape glanced at Harry suspiciously. "Excuse me?"

"Another duel?" Harry asked in disappointment. He was ready to crawl into bed and sleep for ten years.

"Just one more, my boy, and we'll let you go," Dumbledore promised before turning back to his potion's master. "Severus, we've been working with Harry to improve his dueling in light of present circumstances. I believe you could offer a more authentic experience for the boy."

"Albus," Severus warned, eyes darting to Harry.

"I already know about the spy thing if that's what you're worried about," Harry said. A part of him wanted to shoot Snape a smug expression, but he couldn't muster up the feeling. Ever since the man pulled glass from his back and let him sleep it off on his office couch, Harry had felt differently about him. Then, in Harry's darkest hour, there he'd been again. Harry had literally thought he was an angel while half-conscious on that floor. That memory made him feel a bit silly, but it still mattered. Snape had been there when Harry was certain he was going to die and be thrown away like trash, then wrapped him up with such care and lifted him into his arms and Harry had trusted that Snape wouldn't let the Dursleys have his body. That had been the most important thing in the world to Harry in that moment, just as it had been Cedric Diggory's last request to him. He doubted he could ever truly dislike the man after that, no matter how Snape felt about him in return.

"The Dark Lord knows," Snape said, going pale.

Harry's eyes widened. "No, no. Well, not that I know of anyway. You all made some pretty obvious references to it in the Hospital Wing last year after the..." His breath caught. He dropped his eyes as memories flashed, rapid fire. But then he shook his head, shaking off the daze. "...the tournament. Sorry."

"Perfect. Now we all understand each other," Dumbledore said.

"Perfect?" Snape repeated incredulously. "A secret that could get me killed is out among the student body, Albus."

Dumbledore seemed unconcerned. "Harry won't tell anyone, will you, my boy?"

Harry's eyes widened a little and he shook his head. "I swear."

Snape glowered. "How reassuring."

"Ron, Hermione and I know, but we all know how dangerous that information is. We won't say anything," Harry swore.

"See, he's already gossiped about it!" Snape gestured sharply toward Harry.

Harry bristled a bit at the accusation. He straightened up in his chair. "Actually, you two had your poorly disguised conversation in front of all three of us. We haven't gossiped about it to anyone."

Snape still eyed him suspiciously.

"All settled," Dumbledore concluded. "Now, as I was saying, Severus I would like you to duel with Harry. You may use tactics you usually use while fighting."

"Surely you can instruct Potter without my help," Snape said stiffly. "My fighting style is too advanced and too dark for a student. It would be inappropriate."

"Unfortunately, Harry has already been up against more than any student should and I'm afraid he will too soon be forced to draw wands against those whose fighting is also 'inappropriate.'" Dumbledore looked at Harry, who was startled by the sudden sadness in the headmaster's eyes. "He will be better prepared if he sees what he is up against, without feeling the effects of curses he cannot fight or learn from. We'll keep out the darkest ones, but ones without pain or long-term harm, use."

Snape frowned. "Very well."

Harry set down his glass of water and pulled out his wand. He walked over slowly, eyes on the floor so he could get a feel for his professor. Snape was barely even preparing to fight. He obviously had low expectations. Harry smirked just a little before schooling his face and looking up at his opponent.

The two bowed and took their stances. Before Dumbledore signaled for them to begin, Snape lashed out, hissing, "Expelliarmus!"

Harry easily blocked the curse, having sensed Snape beginning to tense just before it. Snape began to shout a curse, but something about what he was doing felt off. Harry was already jumping to the left when he realized it was a feint, to see where Harry was moving. "Imperio!"

The spell hit Harry squarely in the chest. A familiar wave of calm washed through his mind. A voice told him to lower his wand. Harry almost did, because in their last drills, a hit was assumed to be the Killing Curse and Harry would consider himself a goner, but he reminded himself that these weren't the same rules. If Snape could use a bluff, well, so could he.

As best as he could, Harry let his face go blank while mentally arguing with the spell, then he lowered his wand as asked.

Snape turned smugly toward Dumbledore. "Well, there you are."

"Expelliarmus," Harry shouted, hitting Snape straight on. He snatched the flying wand out of the air and grinned triumphantly. Snape stared, his jaw hanging just a fraction.

"You were saying, Severus?" McGonagall asked, arms crossed and clearly delighted.

"That was a good fake, Professor," Harry said genuinely, handing the wand back, handle first. "I knew something was off, but I didn't get it until it happened. You were seeing which way I jumped, right?"

"How...you were under Imperius," Snape protested in a tone that was almost a scold. "It shouldn't have broken just because I took my focus off."

"Oh," Harry scratched his head, "I can fight Imperius off pretty well. Sorry, I should've said. I guess that was cheating."

"There's no cheating in dueling. It's not an exam." Snape looked interested. "Let's try that again. Ready?"

Harry nodded. He was tired, but he could feel Snape still had low expectations. He wasn't preparing for battle like his other professors did.

Snape began raining curses and hexes on him in rapid succession. Harry blocked and dodged, not bothering to fire back. He needed an opening. He definitely got a workout, though. Snape liked firing curses at his different sides, or up then down, trying to say them so fast Harry wouldn't have time to reverse the way he was jumping in time. At one point, he had to twist sideways and suck in his stomach to avoid two that whizzed by on either side of him, but one streak of light came so close it burned his back.

Harry could feel himself tiring, but Snape was also slowing. Harry knew he had to get the shot before he messed up and was hit. He pointed his wand at Snape, just slightly off-center to the left and opened his mouth. Just as Snape jumped to the right, Harry jerked his wand over and shouted the disarming charm.

He soon had Snape's wand in his hand for the second time that night.

"Quick study," Snape grumbled as Harry offered him his wand back, but once again, the man looked intrigued, even, perhaps, the tiniest bit excited.

"Before you arrived, Harry beat each of us separately, then all of us together," Lupin bragged, shooting Harry a pleased smile.

"All three of you?" Snape repeated, eyeing Harry as if he were a fascinating potions specimen. "Even you, Albus? It was three on one?"

Dumbledore smiled in that twinkly way of his. "What do you say, Severus? We could use your expertise. Shall we plan on a four on one duel for the next lesson?"

Snape looked reluctant, but apparently curiosity won out. "I'll be there. You're right. Potter should learn the dark side of dueling. The Dark Lord certainly doesn't use tickle charms."

Harry snorted and smirked. "Just fires rainbows and unicorns at you."

Lupin shared a smile with him. Snape just looked mildly disturbed.

"I think it's time for me to escort Mr. Potter to his tower," McGonagall announced. "We've made the poor boy jump through enough hoops tonight and it's well after curfew."

"You don't have to walk me, Professor. I can manage on my own," Harry protested, his cheeks heating a little.

"I insist. You're dead on your feet and it's on my way. Don't want you nodding off in the hallway."

Harry said goodnight to the other professors before he and Professor McGonagall started toward the common room.

"I'm proud of you, Harry," she said once they were alone. "You're doing an excellent job."

Harry blushed. "Thanks, Professor."

"You know I'm available if you ever need someone to talk to," she said, her tone anything but casual.

Harry began to feel uncomfortable with where this was going. "Uh, okay."

McGonagall's eyes surveyed the empty hall then turned down at him with a sorrowful expression. "Harry, why didn't you come to me with what was happening with your relatives? Did you not feel I was approachable?"

Harry stiffened and avoided her gaze. "It wasn't personal; you're fine. I didn't want to talk to anyone about it. I still don't."

"Of course," she said quickly, but after a pause, she nearly blurted, as if she couldn't help herself, "You went to Professor Snape with it. I would have thought he'd be the last person in the castle you'd approach."

Harry's jaw clenched. He wished she'd just shut up about it. "It wasn't like I went to him for a heart to heart. I was desperate and he pushed it and it just came out. Please, Professor, I really don't want to talk about this."

McGonagall's face softened and she nodded. "Yes, of course. I apologize for prying. If you ever would like to talk, though, my door is always open to you, day or night."

"Thanks," Harry muttered.

He was beyond grateful to arrive at the Fat Lady's portrait and to dart inside the common room after a quick goodnight to his head of house.

It looked like it was later than he'd thought. The only two still in the common room were waiting to greet him. Hermione and Ron swept books off the table and slid them underneath as Harry collapsed in a big, cushy chair. They'd been doing that ever since he'd told them about the cancer. He knew they were trying to find something to help. He'd explained several times that he'd already been through the books during his initial search, but they wouldn't believe it until they saw it themselves, he supposed. Besides, he needed the cancer to defeat Voldemort. His dueling proved that. He could beat Dumbledore now, after all.

Of course if they _could_ find something else... No. He wouldn't think like that. This was the key. He was saving lives. His mother had given her life for him, it was always meant that he would, in turn, give his life for the wizarding world. This way, he also got to save the Stensons. It was what had to be.

Either way, he was secretly touched they cared so much.

"You look wiped," Ron said.

"I _am_ wiped," Harry muttered. He nuzzled his face into the soft back of the chair.

Ron leaned in. "So, tell us about it!"

"Make it short," Hermione added. "You need your rest."

"Thanks Mum," Harry said, eyes resting closed. "I dueled each separately. Then twice with all the three of them together. Then Snape alone twice."

"And you won?" Ron asked excitedly.

Harry nodded. "Except for the first time with all three. Got hit with a Leg-Locker."

"Harry! You're supposed to take it easy!" Hermione scolded.

"I'm fine, 'Mione."

"Ron, get him to bed. You know he doesn't understand what 'fine' means."

"Hey!" Harry opened his eyes to glare at Hermione, but Ron was right there.

"Come on, mate. Let's go."

"Fine," Harry grumbled. He pushed himself to his feet, but barely made it a few steps before feeling too weak. He eyed the staircase and just knew making it all the way up would be impossible. He shook his head and sat on the couch. "Never mind. I can't make that. I'm going to sleep here." He started to lie down but Ron grabbed his arm and tugged.

"I'll levitate you and it won't be pretty," Ron threatened. "We both know my levitation charms. You'll bang into lots of walls."

Harry groaned and allowed Ron to pull him to his feet. They said their goodnights to Hermione, Harry's being a mumble that didn't sound like anything in English, and the two boys started up the tower.

Just after the second floor, with Ron chatting away about how wicked it was that he'd beat Snape, Harry's foot caught on the stair and he pitched forward. He landed on his hands and Ron picked him up.

"You okay?"

"Fine."

"Nice spill."

"Arse."

At the fourth floor landing, suddenly Harry just couldn't open his eyes and felt himself sinking. He was shocked awake when arms wrapped around his waist and his knees hit the stone with a painful jolt.

Ron's eyes went wide. "Merlin, Harry. What was that?"

Harry pressed a hand to his forehead to try to wake himself up. His body had never felt so weak and he had never felt so tired in his life. "Maybe I did overdo it," he admitted. "I don't know. This is weird."

"Should I get Hermione?" Ron asked.

"No. Don't be an idiot; I'm just tired."

Ron shook his head. "This is more than tired, Harry."

A silence descended over both of them.

"Oh shit," Ron gasped, sounding like he was going to start hyperventilating.

"It's nothing. It's nothing," Harry said frantically, pushing to his feet. He didn't feel as tired now that Ron was looking at him like he was going to drop dead right there. He'd never told Ron about that initial dizziness and the coughing fit he'd had after Transfiguration that day. Maybe it would have been good to warn him that this sort of thing would start happening, but then, if Ron was pale and breathless at this, the reaction to hearing Harry had coughed blood probably wouldn't have gone over well.

Harry held onto the banister and pushed himself up the stairs. He felt tired and weak, though less like he was going to just fall asleep now and more like his feet would soon stop responding to his brain's strict demands that they keep going.

Ron had fallen quiet. Harry told him more details about his duel with Snape, trying to cheer Ron up by telling him how he'd won by using Snape's own trick against him, but he didn't think Ron was listening. With one more floor to go, Harry was too tired to keep up the effort. He wanted to say something to Ron, to be a supportive friend when Ron looked so traumatized, but what could he say? And he was so tired...

He slumped onto his bed and kicked off his shoes. Ron stiffly grabbed his toothbrush and disappeared. Harry was asleep before he got back.


	16. Chapter 16: A Bad Day

**Poster's Note:** Yes, unfortunately, this is the last chapter in this revised version. But the story continues in the unrevised version, if you're curious!

 **Author's Note** : THE GRADING SYSTEM. I get tons of comments about this, so I'll explain. I use the A-F system on regular assignments, the O-T system on O.W.L.-related assignments. Harry has to have the O-T system explained to him in book 5 in relation to the O.W.L.s. Therefore, it was obviously not used to grade his assignments before the O.W.L.s. I look at it as the difference between scoring systems between regular grades and say the SATs, or the AP exams or the British A-Levels. So, unless they are taking practice tests for the O.W.L.s, they will be graded on an A-F scale.

 **CHAPTER 16**  
 **A BAD DAY**

"Harry! Harry!"

Harry, who was walking with Ron and Hermione toward the back exit from the castle, turned to find Eloise bounding toward him with a grin spread across her face. She skipped down the hall until the raised eyebrows of passerby made her slow her step. She bit her bottom lip to suppress a smile and when she got to him, she wildly waved a piece of parchment a little too close to his face.

"What's that?" Harry asked, smiling at Eloise's obvious excitement.

" _This_ ," she said, "is going to be enlarged and framed and hung above my bed."

Harry snatched the parchment out of the air before she gave his nose a paper cut. He recognized it as their latest Potions quiz. Eloise had only gotten two questions wrong out of thirty. Harry's jaw dropped and he let out a breath of a laugh.

Hermione and Ron peered over Harry's shoulder.

"Merlin's beard," Ron gasped.

"Eloise," Harry said through a huge smile, looking up from the test, "you got an A!"

"I know!" she squeaked. "It's our study sessions! I finally understand this stuff! I just can't believe it. Snape handed me back the test with his eyes all squinty and suspicious-like and I saw the grade and I kept staring at it until..."

"Hey polka dots," called a drawling voice. Eloise froze and the joy vanished from her eyes. "I heard you cheated on the Potions test."

"I did not!" Eloise shouted defensively at the approaching blond.

"Bugger off, Malfoy!" Ron spat.

"I can see those spots on your face haven't cleared up, Midgen. I'll gladly sacrifice a galleon if you need to see a specialist. Every time I run into you in the halls, it puts me off my dinner, so I admit my motives are selfish. What do you say?"

Eloise bowed her head, not looking at anyone. Her thumb rubbed at her wrist in a self-protective gesture.

"Oi, shut your face you bloody ferret," Ron growled, stepping forward aggressively.

Harry wouldn't have minded punching the pinched, sneering face, but he'd come to realize that rising to Malfoy's bait was what gave Malfoy confidence. Though he felt his hands itch to curl into fists, he forced himself to stay cool and roll his eyes. "Malfoy, don't you have something better to do, or are you really so pathetic that you've got to prance around and annoy people for scraps of attention?"

"Pathetic?" Malfoy sneered. "I guess we have different definitions for the word. What I find pathetic is two morons getting tutored by an even bigger moron in his worst subject, then having one of them nearly wet herself when she has a burst of luck."

"And what did you get on the exam?" Hermione asked in her most superior tone. "Just average even though Snape gives your house advanced notice on the material covered? You're right. We do have different definitions of pathetic. At least the other houses earn their grades on their own."

"At least I'm passing," Malfoy shot, looking pointedly at Ron. Crabbe and Goyle sniggered at their leader's side.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Glad your cronies find you so amusing. Do they not understand what passing means? 'Cause I don't think they should be throwing stones on that subject."

Crabbe and Goyle's laughter abruptly died and they cracked their knuckles threateningly.

"I've wasted enough time on you lot," said Malfoy, his arms crossing casually. "I just wanted to tell Midgen I thought her attempt to curse off her acne should be a repeated experiment. Trust me, Midgen, getting rid of that mess is worth the sacrifice of your nose." He fixed Eloise with a condescending look, then marched away with his thugs hurrying after him.

Thick tears welled up in Eloise's eyes. "I have to go," she said in a small voice, then strode off quickly, wiping a sleeve across her eyes.

"Eloise, wait!" Hermione called, but Eloise was already gone.

"Should we go after her?" Harry asked Hermione, who, being a girl, knew more about female emotions than the two boys could ever hope to learn.

Hermione sighed. "No. Not right now. Unless one of you boys is planning on declaring an attraction to her, more attention on the subject's going to make her feel worse."

Harry frowned at the test still in his hand. Eloise had completely forgotten about her achievement in all the upset. The three continued toward the greenhouses.

"Why is Malfoy such an arse?" Ron asked, jaw clenched. "I hope he gets eaten by the giant squid."

"Maybe he'll turn around one day," Hermione said without much conviction.

Ron snorted. "Yeah, I'm sure. Right after Harry and Snape become best mates."

Harry cocked his head. "Snapey? He's been my best friend forever, Ron! I'm sorry, did you think it was you?"

"Ah, so that's why you're all into tutoring Potions now," Ron teased. "I thought it might be to be more like Snape."

Harry nodded along. "Yup. I'm going to start washing my hair with kitchen grease to get that same posh effect."

While Ron laughed and Hermione tried to suppress a chuckle, Harry felt the cheeky grin fall from his face. Snape had helped him when he was hurt, kept his secret and had gone all the way to the Dursleys to save his life. Harry felt his stomach churn with guilt as Ron kept going with the joke.

Finally, they reached the greenhouse and grabbed their usual stools. Harry pushed the pot waiting on his desk away to clear a space, and paused only for a moment at the growl that came from beneath the soil. He pulled out his Transfiguration text and carefully closed Eloise's test in its pages, careful not to crinkle it. After sliding it into his bag, he pushed all of his anger at Malfoy, sadness for Eloise and guilt about his Snape comment out of his mind and watched as a vine crept out of his pot and started propelling itself back toward him.

-

After classes, Harry brought his school things up to his dorm, took off his robe and tie and threw his bag onto his bed. He turned to head back down to the common room, but paused when Kota's picture frame caught his eye. As usual, it sat proudly on his nightstand. The Muggle photo fascinated Neville and Ron, who poked at it, and peeked at it from the corners of their eyes, not understanding that the occupants weren't just extra sneaky about moving. Mostly his roommates waggled their eyebrows and made suggestive comments about his and Kota's relationship. Harry just rolled his eyes in return and insisted she was practically a sister. The photo reminded him why he'd made his sacrifice and kept him going when he felt rotten.

Now the frame gave him an idea. He pulled an old, cracked vial from his trunk and transfigured it into a rectangular pane of clear glass. He had to flip through his schoolbook, but was finally able to transfigure two pieces of parchment into small panels of wood. Then, he cut a wobbly rectangular hole in the middle of one. He set down the full panel of wood on his bed, dug out Eloise's test and carefully centered it, then stacked the pane of glass and the second panel on top. He sealed the seams and smiled with pride. He'd made a frame. A frame that looked like it had been made by a six-year-old, but a frame nonetheless.

"What're you doing?" asked Neville, walking into the room and tossing his bag onto his bed.

"Eloise got an A on Snape's last test. I've just finished framing it for her," Harry explained, eyeing his crafts project critically.

Neville peered over his shoulder and his eyebrows jumped. "Only two wrong? Wow!" He grinned. "She's going to love this. Let's carve a message into it. You know, _Congratulations Vice President of the Hated By Snape Club_ or something."

"Brilliant," Harry agreed. He had Neville trace the words with his wand since Harry's own handwriting was too messy. When he was done, Harry repeated a charm Dean used on quidditch banners and the words glittered gold. Harry held the frame out at arm's length so they could admire their handiwork. They both gave satisfied nods.

"One more thing," Neville said with a sly grin. He flipped the frame over and quickly carved something into the back with much less care. He held it up for Harry to read. The words "Smart Ass!" smirked back at him. Harry laughed.

Neville ran and grabbed an old copy of the Daily Prophet. They used it as wrapping paper, sticking pieces of Spellotape all over it. It looked a little wonky, but Neville insisted that it gave it a personal touch.

Harry brought the gift to Hedwig with instructions to deliver it to Eloise at breakfast.

-

The next morning, hacking coughs that seared his throat jolted Harry from sleep. The sound tore into the quiet of the dorm room and Harry was almost more annoyed with the noise than the pain. He buried his face in his pillow to quiet them.

The coughs eventually subsided, leaving his throat raw and stinging, and he was only left with a pounding headache. Harry ached to go back to sleep, but felt wretched and couldn't find the comfort he needed to slip back under. He gingerly lifted his head from his pillow and his head swam at the movement.

This was going to be a bad day.

A splatter of dark red drops across his pillow caught Harry's attention. His fingers flew to the side of his mouth and when he drew them away, they glistened with blood. That definitely wasn't good.

He reached to touch the blood on the pillow, more out of shock than any real reason, but he jerked his hand back in surprise. The part his fingers had ghosted over was clean again, like nothing had happened. Curiously, he waved his hand over the rest of it. His pillow was clean. Harry swallowed nervously, not quite comfortable yet with his new powers that showed themselves off when even he didn't expect it.

Wondering if the rest of him needed cleaning before Ron caught sight of him, Harry stumbled to the bathroom. His nose crinkled in distaste at his reflection in the sink mirror. His skin was pale and clammy, his hair matted to his forehead. His collar and sleeve were also stained red in spots, but another sweep of his hand and they, too, were good as new. Now, just some cold water on his face to get the color back...

Suddenly, he felt a lurching in the pit of his stomach. He leaned into the sink and the sounds of retching echoed in the stone bathroom. He rose, gasping for breath and clutching his stomach. While he was rinsing out his mouth, another dizzy spell swept over him and he had to grasp the sink for support.

It was _definitely_ going to be a bad day.

Hearing the muffled stirrings of his dormmates, Harry splashed some cold water on his face, desperately trying to get color in before Ron saw. Harry didn't know if he could handle any grim looks this morning, feeling as wretched as he did. And there was nothing he could do about it. To skip classes he'd have to get excused by Madam Pomfrey, which meant an exam, which meant his secret blown. He wasn't ready for that. He just wanted to forget that death was waiting quietly at the end of his school year, focus on how he was going to defeat Voldemort, and live the next few months as normally as possible. He didn't want people to freak out every time he stumbled on a stair.

So, he'd have to buck up and deal with it. He gave his reflection a firm nod, then winced as the movement made him dizzy.

Trying to keep his gait steady, he wandered back into their dorm room and headed for his trunk. Seamus, Neville and Ron were poking at Dean, who just curled into the fetal position and groped around for his duvet. Potions first thing didn't inspire much motivation for getting out of bed. Ron looked over at Harry, his face quirked in question. "Hey mate, where were you?"

Harry nodded toward Dean, who swatted a limp hand at the pillow Seamus was pummeling him with. "I figured we only need one person each morning that needs to be pulled from a coma. I got up early."

Ron seemed unsure if he was satisfied with that answer or not.

After Seamus finally dumped water over Dean's head, the five fifth year Gryffindor boys hurried down to the Great Hall for breakfast, Dean grumbling about exacting revenge for the water stuck in his ears. While the food spread across the Gryffindor table made Dean perk up, it just made Harry feel worse. With his stomach feeling queasy, he wanted to distance himself from the sausages and eggs steaming on the table in front of him, so he opened up his Potions text and pretended to study. He might have actually studied if Hermione and Ron's bickering hadn't drowned out his mental repetitions of potion-making laws.

"I don't care, Ron. You shouldn't badmouth professors!" Hermione scolded.

"'Mione, come on. We all know Snape's an oily, slithering git. He's prejudiced against our whole house! And you know how much he picks on Harry. There's just no defending the slime ball," Ron snapped back in hushed tones, then glanced quickly over his shoulder. Snape did have a tendency to show up when he was least wanted, but for now, he was at a safe distance, eating his meal with a scowl.

"Snape's not all that bad," Harry muttered.

Hermione and Ron instantly went silent.

"He gave you detention for sneezing," Ron reminded.

Harry shrugged a shoulder. "That was months ago. I think he's gotten better."

"But you were making fun of him yesterday. Did Hermione make you take her side?" Ron asked with a suspicious glance at their bushy-haired comrade. Hermione's eyes narrowed back at him.

"I shouldn't have said that thing about his hair. He's not such a bad guy and saying that about him's no different than Draco making fun of Eloise," Harry said quietly.

Ron shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth and his cheeks puffed to hold the food while he spoke. "First you're helping Slytherins in the corridors, now you're defending Snape? Next thing we know you'll be wearing silver and green."

Harry glanced around, then leaned forward over his book. "Listen, it's just...he's spying for Dumbledore, which has to be really dangerous, and we're insulting him behind his back? Maybe we should lay off him. Show some respect, you know?"

Ron clearly thought Harry had lost his mind.

"See Ron? Harry's...er...right. We need to stop all...that." Hermione gave a firm nod but still seemed surprised and shot suspicious glances at him. She frowned at his plate. "Harry, aren't you going to eat anything?"

Harry's eyes sank back to his book and he slumped a little in his seat. "Not right now."

Ron's fork froze halfway to his mouth and Hermione's eyes widened.

"I'll eat at lunch, just not now," Harry sighed. "And I can see all those looks you two keep giving each other. I'm not blind, you know."

Ron pointedly raised an eyebrow.

Adjusting his glasses, Harry smirked. "Well, not totally blind."

Out of reflex, everyone glanced up as the owls came soaring in through the windows. Mail time. Neville caught Harry's eye from his spot next to Dean and grinned with excitement. Hedwig swooped over Harry's head toward the Hufflepuff table.

Hermione's eyes followed the snowy owl curiously. "Where's Hedwig going?"

"She's delivering a present," Harry said, turning around in his seat. "It's nothing, really. Just wanted to make Eloise feel a little better."

The morose Hufflepuff, who had been poking absently at her food, was jolted out of her stupor as Hedwig gracefully set the package down at the side of her juice goblet. Tentatively, Eloise pulled at the wrapping. Her lips turned upward into a smile as she turned the frame over in her hands, then she barked a laugh at Neville's words on the back. Her eyes sought out her fellow Hated By Snape Club mates. She mouthed, "Thank you," and fed Hedwig a piece of toast.

When breakfast was through, Harry gingerly headed toward the exit with his classmates, every step an effort. His head was fuzzy and his stomach turned dangerously. There was a distinct ache in his chest when he breathed. All Harry wanted to do was gulp down a sleeping potion and crawl into bed for a few hours, but that would panic his friends.

Before he could make it to the exit, Eloise bounded up and threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you, Harry. Really."

Harry smiled through his wince and she skipped off to find Neville. He was happy Eloise seemed cheered up, but the hug had nearly been too much for his weak and wobbly legs.

"Harry, are you certain you're alright?" Hermione asked quietly, trying to keep Ron from hearing. Judging by the tightening in Ron's mouth, she was unsuccessful.

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry muttered. Hermione's expression was skeptical, but her mouth snapped shut when Parvati and Lavender drew into eavesdropping range.

Harry kept his eyes straight ahead, trying to ignore the swaying of the floor. He assumed since nobody else had mentioned it that the floor wasn't actually rocking back and forth. He could sit down soon. He held onto that thought.

A firm hand grabbed his elbow when he stumbled on the stone staircase leading to the cold, dank dungeon. Harry looked up to find Ron steadying him with a grim look.

"Thanks. Wasn't paying attention," Harry said.

Ron nodded, not meeting Harry's eyes. He let go of Harry's arm, but hovered close during the walk down. Harry slowed his step to make sure he appeared more in control of himself.

When they reached the dimly lit classroom, Harry collapsed into his seat. The flickering candles made shadows dance to and fro over the walls as always, but today, it made him feel disoriented. He tried to read the instructions on the chalkboard, but the words seemed to wave and Harry had to drop his gaze when he started feeling faint. Thankfully, once the flames were lit under the cauldrons, the light grew steady and Harry could finally concentrate on not knocking over his cauldron or slicing off a finger while chopping the slimy, slippery shrivelfigs.

After four and a half years at Hogwarts, Harry had become largely unfazed by loud bangs and sudden flashes, but when Neville's potion exploded halfway through class and several people screamed, Harry's body jolted unpleasantly. Dark purple bruises blossomed over Neville's arms where the purple goo had splashed. The potion was supposed to heal bruises, so Harry winced on behalf of his friend when Snape swooped over and those surrounding Neville backed away. It looked like Neville was about to get more fodder for the Hated By Snape Club.

"Your utter inability to follow directions never ceases to amaze me, Mr. Longbottom," Snape intoned. "Run along to the hospital wing so Madam Pomfrey can once again clean up after your mistakes."

As Neville bowed his head and darted from the classroom, Ron leaned over and muttered, "Yeah, Harry, Snape's a real stand-up guy."

Harry just shrugged. "He's not exactly sugar and spice, but he's a good person at the core. Trust..." Harry felt someone watching at him and looked around. To his surprise, it was Snape, who quickly looked away and went to snap at Seamus and Dean. Harry got the distinct impression his and Ron's conversation had been overheard.

Harry was desperately thankful when his potion was finally finished. The billowing steam in his face had made him sweat more than usual and the heat had become unbearable. His hand shook as he heaved his book bag onto his shoulder and followed Hermione and Ron from the dungeons. With one comment about hook-nosed vampire bats from Ron, Hermione picked her scolding right up where she'd left off at breakfast.

Neither noticed Harry falling behind, rubbing his temples to urge the fogginess to clear. He felt weaker with each step he took and hoped he didn't fall again like he had on the dormitory stairs with Ron. The fumes from Potions had irritated his lungs and when he coughed into the back of his wrist, he was alarmed to see a spray of blood. He wiped his hand over it anxiously, like he'd done with his pillow, but this time, nothing happened. He reached for his wand, but started coughing again, more forcefully than before and the world started going blurry.

Harry's books slipped from his arms and clattered loudly on the ground. Ron and Hermione whipped around, their eyes widening in alarm to find him doubled over, his books abandoned at his feet.

"You alright?" Ron asked, his voice high with panic.

Harry shook his head, a conspicuous departure from his usual stubborn insistence that he was fine. Ron and Hermione started toward him, already talking about the infirmary, when Harry's legs gave out and he crumpled to the ground.

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked as the two raced to his side. Harry lay on his back, his chest heaving erratically.

"Shit," Ron cursed, crashing to his knees next to him. "Harry, dammit, don't do this." He shook Harry's shoulders but and Harry just shut his eyes.

"Ron, stop! Go get a professor, you're faster than I am. Snape's closest," Hermione ordered in a voice tight with hysteria. She pressed a hand to Harry's forehead, then his cheeks, as Ron launched himself to his feet and took off at full speed toward the classroom of his most hated professor. Hermione's face hovered over Harry's worriedly and she smoothed his hair back in a useless, but compassionate gesture.

"C-cold," Harry gasped. "I'm so cold." He hadn't meant for the words to escape, but he was afraid. Was this it? He'd thought he had more time.

Hermione whipped off her cloak and tucked it around him, stammering, "It'll be all right, Harry. Help is coming. You'll be fine. Just fine. I promise."

Harry's mind clouded. Everything felt confusing, as if someone had hexed him with the Confundus Charm. "Where's Ron?" he managed weakly.

"Getting Snape. He'll be here really soon."

Harry swallowed. "Where's Hermione?"

The girl stared down at him with wide eyes, then a shaking hand rose to her mouth and tears spilled from her eyes. Her hand left her mouth and touched his cheek. "I'm here, Harry. It's Hermione."

"You're okay," Harry said in relief, blinking up at her blurry face.

She nodded, her bottom lip quivering. "Yeah."

"I haven't killed Voldemort," Harry groaned. "I was supposed to.

"Don't worry about that right now, okay? You just focus on...on being well."

Harry turned his head to the side to cough, then winced as he swallowed.

Hermione pulled in a shuddering breath. "There's blood," she said in surprise.

"I need my glasses," Harry muttered, squinting up at her. "I can't see."

Hermione stared at him again with a terrible expression of fear. "You're wearing your glasses, Harry."

"Then why..." Why was everything getting blurrier? Why was everything getting darker? He desperately tried to focus on Hermione's face because as long as he could hold onto her, he didn't have to be afraid. As her features blurred and her sobs grew faint, he knew he'd lost the battle. But soon, even his worry faded. It was kind of peaceful...as if everything was drifting very far away...


End file.
